Publication Federation Aftermath (aka The Shamy Book Club After Dark)
by April in Paris
Summary: If science turns Sheldon on, does literature turn Amy on? In which our Shamy get in between a different sort of covers. Companion to my Shamy Book Club; not entirely necessary to read that first but strongly recommended, otherwise some references and plot points may be confusing. SHAMYVERSE
1. The Gift

_**If science turns Sheldon on, does literature turn Amy on? In which our Shamy get in between a different sort of covers. Companion to my Shamy Book Club; not entirely necessary to read that first but strongly recommended, otherwise some references and plot points may be confusing. **_

**_Here we go: what happens after Book Club. Enjoy!_**

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**The Gift (takes place after _The Eyre Affair_)**

* * *

"_Ball and chain, eh?" she said with a smirk. She squeezed his arm and walked away. "I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"_

* * *

Amy was still smiling as she undressed, after brushing her teeth and hair. Book club always put her in a good mood, and Sheldon had been especially cute tonight. And helping him with his equation had just been icing on the cake. His face!

She thought he would be up late working, so she was surprised when he walked in the bedroom just as she was grabbing a nightgown. "You're not staying up late?"

"No, I think I - well, you - have it to a good stopping place. I'll sleep on it," he answered. Then he smiled at her, her favorite smile, and walked over to kiss her. She was still holding the nightgown in her hand, and he put his hand over hers. "Maybe . . . no nightgown tonight?"

Amy smiled back at him and nodded. She put the nightgown back in the drawer. She felt giddy with excitement. Sheldon had just told her, with words!, what he wanted. This was a first. Well, rather a second, because the very first time he said it, too. But he had not said it since. After the first few times, he had struck upon the idea of just not wearing pajamas, or anything else, to bed. That was his way of asking. She found it charming even if she suspected he also did it so he wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night panicked about his discarded and unfolded pajamas littering the room. As charming as it was, though, she did long for him to someday say the words to her. Just about any variation of "I want you" would do. This felt like the first step.

She threw her panties into the hamper and got into bed. She sat there, watching him undress. She loved this show. She wondered if he knew how intently she was watching, how she always watched. He never acknowledged it, if he did. As with everything he did, there was an order and method. She always wanted to giggle when he folded his clothes before putting them in the hamper. It was so unnecessary and so Sheldon and so she loved it.

At last, it was her slender, naked husband coming to bed. Just thinking that sentence filled her awe. All of those words she thought she would never use.

Sheldon turned off the light, and they rolled toward each other. As always, there were a couple of gentle kisses first, and then Sheldon brought his hand up to her hair and everything deepened. Amy sank into him, his arms, his mouth, his smell. All the years of her life she thought about sex, she never thought it would be like this.

He was nibbling on her shoulder, and her hands were cupping his hind end, when she thought she would ask. She had wanted to, well, since the beginning, but after a few attempts in which Sheldon drew her hand away she had given up. But last week something new had happened, namely that she made her way to the top of their love pile, and it made her realize she could take control, too. She was amazed how empowered it made her feel. She wasn't just taking, she was giving, and Dear Lord! did it feel good.

"Dr. Cooper, may I touch you?" she whispered.

"You are touching me," he whispered back.

"No, I mean, Sheldon -" His head drew away from her. "Sheldon, I want to touch you, really touch you . . . there."

"Oh." She thought she heard him swallow. He whispered, "Uh, if you touch me there, you know I'll probably . . . and then we won't be able to . . . and I may be too tired to . . ."

"I know. That's okay," she replied, bringing her one of her hands up to touch his face. She continued to whisper to him. "Sheldon, if you don't want me to do something because you discover you don't like it or because it is uncomfortable, I always want you tell me right away. But, please, let's agree to never avoid something because we are frightened. Not here."

He didn't answer. Instead, he brought his forehead to hers. She felt his hot breath on her face. Finally, he spoke. "It will be messy."

"It always is." And then she kissed him, gently. This, in fact, had surprised Amy. When she speculated on sex with Sheldon, she assumed it would involve a shower afterwards. But it has not. She thanked the gods of biology, because Sheldon preferred to cuddle groggily until he fell asleep.

As she pulled away, Sheldon reached up for her hand, took it from his cheek, and kissed her palm. Then he nodded.

She reached down and gently caressed just the tip of him. She was rewarded with a short moan. She shifted down the bed slightly; sometimes the height difference was a problem. She knew what to do, but she wanted to investigate him first. His skin felt feverish there; she had noticed this before, in the early morning hours, when Sheldon sometimes woke her by pressing his hot self against her. That, combined with his rubbing of her hip, was his morning signal. His skin there was soft, too, so incredibly soft. The juxtaposition of the soft skin stretched so taut over the hardness beneath was very arousing.

Sheldon's breath came louder and faster as she gently caressed him. When she used just her index finger to follow around his ridge and then swiped the very tip of him again, he let out another moan. His fingers dig into her flesh slightly when she finally took a firm grasp of him. He let out his signature gasp.

And so, in the tight space between them, because he was holding her, she gave to Sheldon. He buried his face in her hair, and she took advantage of the change in position to treat his neck and chest to all the delights to which he usually treated her.

For the second time that night, she was gladdened when she heard him murmur into her hair, the first time he had ever asked for something specific. "Faster."

She sped up, ignoring the mild cramping in her forearm. She felt it, actually felt it, coming before his breath even caught in his throat. Then the deep, low moan she knew well just before the warmth spread on her stomach.

He kissed her on the forehead and then she tilted her head back to look at him. It still held the passive softness she loved. She shifted back up again, so she could look him in the eyes, and he surprised her by pulling her in for a tight hug. She had not thought he would want that mess on himself.

"My wife," he said and then he kissed her. He said it again when he pulled away, "My wife."

It is the first time he has used it as a term of endearment. He has said it in conversation, seeming to effortlessly slip it in where the words "my girlfriend" used to be. She did not understand why this act is what made him use it, but she did not care.

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she said.

"But I didn't say it first."

"Yes, you did." She kissed him this time. "I think maybe tonight a brief shower is in order?"

"Please."

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**_As always, reviews are appreciated. Fair warning for what follows: s**_ome chapters are long and some are painfully short. And some are mundane, because, well, married life &amp; sex isn't always steamy._**_**


	2. The Double Entendre

**The Double Entendre (takes place after _The Night Circus_)**

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"_Because, Dr. Cooper, I want to be shaken, not stirred." Amy smirked and walked out of the bathroom._

_Sheldon's voice came after her, "What does that mean?"_

* * *

He followed her to the bedroom because, well, it was Amy. Of course he followed her. "Amy, that line is an iconic James Bond reference to an alcoholic drink. As I am not a bartender or even a fan of alcohol, I do not understand -"

"Shut up, Dr. Cooper."

Startled, Sheldon stopped talking. _Is Amy angry? If so, why did she call me Dr. Cooper with _that_ infliction, when she draws out the O?_

Amy approached him and started to pull on his belt buckle. "If you are going to speak, Dr. Cooper, you are going to talk about speedboats."

"Speedboats?" He reached down to still her hands (_what is she doing?_), but she slapped his hand away.

"No. Talk. Speedboats."

Abruptly, it occurred to Sheldon that this was a game. And the way Amy just threw the belt over her shoulder strongly implied this was a sex game. Just as abruptly, both his brain and body become excited at the idea.

"Amy, is this a -"

"Speedboats." She started to remove his jacket, sliding one sleeve down.

"Uh, okay." That was not really his area of expertise, but he was not going to argue. "A speedboat is another term for a motorboat. It is a boat that is powered by an engine as opposed to paddles or oars -"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Dr. Cooper." His jacket gone, she was pulling his shirt out of his pants.

He wanted to yell, 'Woman, I can't even think of the title of my last dissertation right now!' Instead, he said, "Uh, well, some motor boats have an outboard motor attached to the rear, but I think the speedboats to which you are referring have an inboard engine."

She had almost unbuttoned his shirt all the way up to his bow tie. He reached up to untie it for her, but she slapped his hand again.

"No. The tie stays on."

The rules of physics were rapidly leaving his brain, but he felt certain that it was impossible to take his shirt off while leaving the tie on. _But who I am to disagree with my beautiful, determined wife who is wearing only her underwear?_

"The motor is an internal combustion engine. An internal combustion engine is an engine in which fuel combusts when it comes in contact with an oxidizer in a combustion chamber."

Amy had given up on the shirt collar, and had decided to remove the cuff links instead. Sheldon was too addled to feel any pride that he was correct. He was also satisfied that she didn't seem to mind that he wasn't really talking about the physics of speedboats, rather just the mechanical engineering of them. It was so much easier to recall those simple details in the moment.

"The expansion of high-temperature and high-pressure gasses produced by this combustion are applied to some other component of the engine, usually a nozzle or piston -" Suddenly, his pants and his underwear are around his ankles in one fell swoop. Amy's face was very close his . . . his . . . "- a piston or the other thing . . ." He was forced to made a spinning motion with his hand.

The corners of Amy's mouth turned up, but instead of allowing herself a full smile she pushed him forcefully onto the bed. He landed with a flop.

"Lie down," she ordered. She bent down to untie a shoe. "Keep talking."

He spoke at the ceiling, feeling first his shoes, then his socks, and finally his pants fall completely away from him. "There are two types of internal combustion engines, intermittent and continuous. Incorrectly, some people think steam engines belong are combustion engines. Steam engines are not a type of internal combustion engine, that is a . . . a . . . uh . . ."

Amy stood and leaned over him, and blew into his ear. "What is it, Dr. Cooper?" She stood back up. One bra strap fell down. "An error?" She brought the other one down. "A misconception?" One reach behind her and the bra was gone. "Inaccurate?" She dropped her panties. "A blunder?"

She crawled over him, a deep smirk on her face. It was, indeed, the naughtiest smirk he had ever seen her use.

"A boner?" she asked.

_What is so funn - Oh!_ He took the risk of another slap. "Amy, what's gotten into you?"

"Hopefully, you." And then her mouth was on his mouth.

He had no idea what had happened to his wife, but, he discovered, he really didn't care. _Good Lord, what a kiss!_ He reached up to run his thumbs over her nipples, and she shuddered. Pulling away from his lips, she grabbed his shoulders, and he rolled with her. She murmured in his ear, "Touch me."

"Already?" he whispered.

"I've been ready ever since you put that tie on." She said it brazenly, not whispering.

_Amy tonight! _he thought.

"Speaking of which, can I take it off? And the shirt? You know I don't like to be half -" he stopped. He saw the flash across her face. Disappointment. He regretted asking. "Never mind."

He bent in for another kiss, and he brought his hand down to her center. She moaned softly into his mouth. He kissed her deeper, mimicking the actions of his fingers with his tongue. She pulled away, her breath coming fast and hard. He moved on to her neck and her wonderful collar bones.

Then he heard it, the first inhalation, sooner than he would have thought. _Fascinating._ Five inhalations and the cry. Just when he was about to stop and pull his hand away something happened. Namely, another short inhalation. Then two more and anther cry.

Had she just . . . ? Had he just made her . . . ? Her skin, her beautiful skin, was flushed and glistening; her eyes, her beautiful eyes, were so bright. His ribcage expanded with pride. _Eat your heart out, James Bond!_

She smiled at him, that smile. Then she pulled at his crisp white shirt, and he came into her. She felt better than any Bond babe he could ever imagine.

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_**AN: **__**As always, reviews are read and loved!**_


	3. Dreams

**The Dreams (takes place after _The Hound of the Baskervilles_)**

* * *

_Amy laughed again, and he reached out for her, pulling her closer. "Will this make you too hot?"_

"_No. But__ no ideas, Dr. Cooper."_

* * *

She heard his breath deepen, and then she fell asleep herself, wrapped in his arms.

He dreamt that he was upon the moor, running through the cold night air. The hound was upon him, the hoof-beats coming ever closer, its howling carrying through the stillness. But its bays were not the typical cries of a dog; instead they sounded like numbers, numbers coming louder and faster, one after another. The numbers made no sense, there was no logical order to them. As he ran, his heart beat ever faster. Then he saw it upon a ridge: a turret, a relic of old fortress. He ran to this fortification, he ran around it, trying to find a way inside. He closed his eyes and asked, under his breath, for the fortress to take him. Suddenly, he was inside and all was calm and quiet. His heart slowed. The answer to the equation the dog was barking was seventy-three.

She dreamt that she knocked on the door of 221B, and the door opened without anyone answering it. She climbed the stairs to the study, but it was empty. The room was in turmoil, papers and books and cards strewn everywhere. Suddenly she had a wand, and she waved it, twirling it in the air until the room was clean. Then he was in the room, standing and smoking his pipe, but she didn't know where or when he had come from. He said, "Capital improvement, my dear, you are the only one who knows how to clean up this disarray." And then she was hugging him, and he smelled like pecan pie.

At some point in the night, he stole the sheet. Shortly thereafter, despite the prior complaints about the heat, the chill in the room drove her to start burrowing under him, her face deep in his back. Neither of these acts awoke them. It was their custom, and it was as comforting as all their other routines.

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**AN: Well, I did promise painfully short . . . don't hate me. Thank you for the (hopefully still) kind reviews.**


	4. Self-Control

_**Self-Control (takes places after **_**The Storied Life of A. J. Fikry**_**)**_

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"_Dance with me. Even though it's not prosaic." She walked to the middle of the living room. He smiled, her favorite smile, and got up to her join her._

* * *

The first song ended and they smiled once more at each other.

"Again? We should dance more often," Sheldon said.

"Yes," Amy replied but it ended with a yawn.

"Poor kid, you really are exhausted."

"Sorry. It was my idea, and I'm spoiling it."

Sheldon dropped his hands and walked over to her computer. The music stopped. "No, we'll do it again another night. We'll schedule it."

Amy smiled at him again, softer. "Sheldon, would you mind if I went to bed instead of watching TV with you?"

"Go. I'll clean up the kitchen." He walked back toward her.

She reached up and put a kiss on his cheek before leaving for the bathroom.

Sheldon applied himself to cleaning. _Ah, the simple joys! _But when everything was cleaned to his satisfaction, he felt at loose ends. He wasn't sure why. He kept thinking back to Amy's tired face. Work never made him tired. He would always eagerly talk about any project, no matter how long he'd been working on it. And Amy normally loved to talk about her work. She really was the most exhausted he'd ever seen her tonight, and it unsettled him.

Frowning, he went to the bedroom. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoes off but otherwise she was still dressed. She was playing idly with her hair.

"Amy?" She jumped. "Are you okay?"

She smiled softly. "I guess I zoned out there. I was going to braid my hair, but I just sort of . . ." She shrugged.

"Here," he sat on the bed next to her, "let me."

She turned away and let him smooth her hair. "I still can't believe you know how to braid hair."

"It's not very difficult. A chimpanzee could do it." His fingers deftly worked the three sections into a manageable plait.

"Sadly, I suspect that study has already been done." She sighed.

Sheldon finished the braid, allowing a minute to pass before speaking. "Amy?"

She reached over her shoulder with the hair elastic, and, even though he took it, it was not want he wanted. "Are you alright?" He wrapped the end of her braid.

Turning back around toward him, Amy shook her head. "I'm fine. I really am just tired. And, well," she looked down, "sometimes after I finish I study I wonder if it's any good enough."

"What? Why do you think that? The only person as smart as you is me." What had happened to Amy's bravado?

"I know. I really do know. But sometimes . . ."

"Amy Farrah Fowler, listen to me. I do not, repeat, do not, pair-bond with average people. You are the most intelligent person I know. If someone doesn't understand something in your work, then they are clearly wrong." He leaned over to kiss her softly, but he brought his hands up the buttons on her cardigan.

Silently, he unbuttoned her cardigan and slid it off her shoulder. He folded it next to them on the bed. Then he repeated the steps with her blouse. He wasn't sure, exactly, what he was doing. Amy let him, but her face was unreadable. He thought maybe he should leave her alone, to sleep, that is what she had asked for; but he didn't want to leave her without her knowing how perfect she was. But it felt wrong to start this, to ask her to do something for which she was too tired. Maybe if he could find a way to relax her instead.

"Amy, would you like me to massage your back?" _Massages are supposed to be relaxing._

Her eyes lit up. _I've pleased her. _She nodded. "Let me take these off first."

She stood and removed her skirt, tights, and, he noticed after a barely perceptible pause, her bra. He took them from her and folded them on the pile. Pulling her braid away from her back, she sat down again, presenting her back to him, awaiting the promised rub.

Except Sheldon had no idea what to do. _Why does this always happen to me? Why does Amy always drive me to do something spontaneous, when I am clearly uncomfortable with the concept of spontaneity?_ He frowned.

"If you take your right hand and -" she said.

"No, I'll do it," he interrupted her. It would not be relaxing for Amy to tell him what to do. But he was quickly regretting his offer, because he needed time to research this first. His only experience with anything close to a massage had been when Amy had instructed him on how to soothe the tension from his own shoulder.

And that is where he would start. Remembering her own precise instructions, he started the sequence. He was using his knuckles in noogie-like fashion when she let out something between a deep breath and a moan.

_Oh boy._ He cursed his body. _This was meant to be relaxing to Amy, not foreplay!_ He took a couple of Kulinar breaths, trying to keep them as quiet as possible, and straightened his spine. _No, I will do this for her._

He repeated the same steps on the opposite shoulder, and then started to knead the top of her shoulders like they were balls of sour-dough bread (_kneading is like massaging, right?_). "Is this okay?"

"Mmmm, it's nice."

Her appreciation was encouragement. He took his thumbs and pushed down lightly on either side of her spine. Making circles, he pushed a little harder. Amy gave another little breath-moan and leaned forward slightly. Sheldon slowly inched the circular rubs all the way down her spine.

Taking his hands away from her, he was at a new loss. What now?

"Sheldon? Would you mind rubbing my legs?"

_Double oh boy._ The last time, the only time, he'd massaged her legs . . . "Um . . . okay. Maybe you should lie down."

"Yes." She got up and started pulling the covers down. He jumped up to move the pile of clothes to the hamper, refusing to look at his topless wife.

She laid down on her side of the bed and closed her eyes. He was glad he had braided her hair, because the very idea of it fanned across her pillow was almost too much. He picked up one of her feet and starting rubbing it while keeping a steady gaze on juncture of the ceiling and the wall.

"What are you looking at?"

"I thought your eyes were closed." _Now I have to look at her._

"They were, but I opened them."

"Uh, well shut them again. This is supposed to be relaxing. Shut your eyes. And don't talk. That's not, um, relaxing."

She shut her eyes again, but not before Sheldon saw the twinkle in them. The twinkle both mortified him (_she knows of my struggle!_) and made the struggle worse (_the twinkle drives me mad!_).

Sheldon worked his way up one leg, making deep, squeezing motions. When he made it up as far as he dared (_am I perspiring?_), he started on her other leg. He heard her breathing deepen.

Was she asleep? When he finished her second leg, he bent down to her ear and whispered, "Do you want a nightgown?"

She didn't answer. He softly kissed her forehead. He wanted to tell her so many things. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was when she slept. He wanted to tell her how much she excited him in the most carnal of ways even at inopportune times. Most of all, he wanted to tell her that she was astute and perceptive and resourceful and exceptional and wise. He wanted to tell her that her brilliance was brighter than any sun in the universe. He wanted to tell her that he never wanted her to think otherwise.

Instead, because he was Sheldon Cooper, he whispered, "I love you, Amy."

He got up, pulled the blankets over her, turned off the light, and went to take a much-needed shower.


	5. Making Up

**Making Up (takes place after _Soulless_)**

* * *

_Sheldon nodded. "If you'll excuse me, I have to go home and apologize to my wife. And we still have a book to discuss."_

* * *

Amy glanced up at the time on the top of her screen. Based on when she received Penny's text, Sheldon should be home soon.

She sighed softly. Ever since he left, panic in his eyes, she had oscillated between frustration and regret. Frustration that her brilliant husband was worse than Peter Pan. Regret that she had handled it poorly. Maybe she shouldn't have sprung it on him. She certainly should have waited until after Book Club.

But not surprise. She was not surprised that he would become frightened and flee. Thus the regret, she should have planned this better. She was a little angry, too, not because he had left, but because he hadn't called or texted himself with his whereabouts. She had not been frightened, really, because he would be going to one of three places, she knew: Leonard's new house, Howard's apartment, or the comic book store.

Just then, she heard his keys in the lock. He entered quietly. She did not turn around. She was not going to indulge him. She waited for him to remove his bag and hang up his jacket, pretending to be engrossed in the random article on Wikipedia (skeleton at the 2010 Winter Olympics; _please, Sheldon, don't look too closely_).

He came and stood by her desk. "I'm sorry, Amy."

"For what?" It came out like anger, but it was really shock. That was the fastest apology yet.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Uh . . . for leaving like that?" He phrased it as a question.

"Well, you should be. It was rude and immature." That was true. "I've been worried sick, wondering where you were." That was maybe an exaggeration.

"I know."

"And you ruined Book Club!" She really was angry about that. She loved Book Club.

"I know. We can talk about it now."

"Maybe the moment has passed." It hadn't. She would still talk about the book.

He actually looked crestfallen at that.

"Sheldon Cooper, I am not your mother. Leonard is not your father or -" her hand flitted "- whatever. I will not drive you to soccer practice for the rest of your life. You need to learn to drive. Also, I am not your handmaiden. I will not sit at home and wring my hands in agony and fear over what childish thing you have done this time." These were not the logical, irrefutable arguments she had prepared, and she knew it even as she said them.

There were three types of serious Cooper-Fowler disagreements. The first, the most common, was a terse but mostly temperate discussion that involved a lot of sighing and eye rolling and sometimes a chart until a mutually satisfying compromise was reached. The second, the rarest, was an alarming and regrettable affair with balled fists and shouts that resulted in two slammed bedroom doors and Amy crying and a night spent apart.

Then there was the third type, another type altogether, in which the words are welded as epees and the heat rose in the room until they exploded. This type of disagreement, Amy believed, was never about the thing they were supposedly disagreeing about. She thought that when this happened the conclusion was already known, one of them had already acquiesced, and the motions were observed to save pride. And, well, because . . .

She did not know yet exactly which type this one was.

"Well, you left me wringing my hands once. Over this exact desk, as I recall." He stabbed the corner of her desk for emphasis.

Amy felt the back of her neck get warm. Sheldon was bringing up an unrelated topic. _Oh, it's on. _"Well, you had to get Leonard to drive you to find me, so I think my point is proven."

"But at least I came to find you. I've never turned the tracking off on my phone, you know. You could have found me tonight!"

"We had fought first then! We didn't fight tonight!" She stood up and crossed her arms.

"What do you think we're doing now?" He crossed his arms back at her.

"We're -" Amy stopped. Because she had no idea what to say next. So much for lengthy verbal sparring that would have Roget weeping for joy. _Point, Sheldon Cooper. _Should she tell him her theory?

Then she saw it in his eyes. A spark. He knew. He knew he'd just won that match. He had also already surrendered in the war. She also knew exactly what he was going to do next.

Ever so slightly, his left eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch. It was a dare. She gritted her teeth. The eyebrow went higher. _No, I will not._ The eyebrow reached its zenith. Her uterus quaked.

He growled. "Dr. Fowler."

She was on him at the speed of light, pushing him back into the bookcase, grabbing the sides of his face, branding him with her mouth. They only came up for air.

"Bedroom?"

"Too far away."

"Agreed."

Later, Amy didn't remember who said what. She never did.

Stumbling, pushing, pulling, clawing, they made their way toward the sofa. One minute his tee shirts were on, the next they were flung against the closet door. Their shoes were kicked way. There was no time to unbutton Amy's cardigan, it came over her head, too. Between kisses. He scratched her back, on purpose, as he unhooked her bra. She nimbly bit his chest while she unbuckled his pants.

"Ouch!"

"Too much?"

"Not really."

His hands were on her breasts, teasing them into a frenzy. Her hand was down his pants, teasing him into a frenzy.

"Why do you insist on wearing tights?"

"Why do you insist on wearing clothes?"

They separated just long enough to rid themselves of the offending garments. Then they were together again, skin against skin.

"The sofa?"

"The cushions!"

"The blanket?"

"The rug?"

"The blanket."

They were on the floor, protecting the rug with the blanket, his hands were in her hair, and her mouth was on his neck. His hands were between her thighs, and her voice cried out.

"You feel so good."

"You feel better."

She was on him, and he was inside her. She used her hips, he used his. Her head was in the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, and his breath came in a moan.

Amy rolled off of him, hair tangled, short on oxygen. "That was hot."

He reached for her hand and squeezed it in agreement. Because Sheldon would never say anything as vulgar as that.

Her heart rate slowing, she put her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, weaving their fingers together over his heart. "Amy, do you ever think maybe we shouldn't do this anymore?"

"Angry sex? Make-up sex? Living room rug sex?"

"Exactly. It's sex, but I'm not certain it's making love."

She gently kissed the red mark she had made on his chest. "I disagree. It's different. But it's still us. And this part is definitely making love."

"But it's so illogical."

"I think it's highly logical. It's the exception that proves the rule."

"That phrase has never been logical and never will be. Vulcans would never say that. Vulcans would never have sex this way."

Amy smiled. "I'm pretty sure this is exactly how Vulcans have sex."

"Amy!"

Her smile broke into a chuckle. "Have you seen _Star Trek_? It's sex or fighting to the death. Obviously, the Vulcans have some serious repression issues. Plus, we know that the cortical levels rise and fall sporadically, as the brain's regulatory system appears to shut down when serotonin levels become unbalanced. Endorphins raise to dangerous levels. I think it's probably very, very hot."

Sheldon looked down at her. "When did you learn so much about Pon Farr?"

"First of all, I do pay attention when we watch _Voyager_. Secondly, maybe I," she coughed slightly, "sort of read up on it."

"When?" He shifted slightly and reached over for the pillow from the sofa that had fallen on the floor close to them. He gave it to Amy, who put her head on the edge. She curled toward him and he curled toward her, his head on the opposite edge, their faces very close, his arm around her.

"Awhile ago. I'm a neurobiologist. It's a neurochemical imbalance. It intrigued me."

"Really?"

"Yes. Did you know that there are more episodes dealing with Pon Farr in _Voyager_ than any other series? But _Voyager_ also breaks its own rules, because it's less than seven years between the two times Tuvok goes into Pon Farr. Which isn't necessary, because _Voyager_ also informs us that Vulcans can mate outside of Pon Farr." She frowned.

"What?"

"I will concede that it may start sedate. From what we've seen, we assume that Vulcan sex starts with the Vulcan form of kissing, a form of physical contact to aid in the performance of telepathy, which I take to mean sending affection and possibly erotic thoughts to the other person." She fell silent. She reached down for his hand on her side, and caressed his index finger and middle finger with her first two fingers.

"Like this," she said. Sheldon was looking at her very keenly, even as her hand fondled his. Her glasses were somewhere, and his being this close put him in sharp relief.

Then he lifted his hand and returned the actions of her fingers. "Go on."

He let go of her hand and reached up to play with a tendril of her hair. He looked . . . no, surely not. And was that . . . no, surely not.

"Well, there is a lot we don't know about it. Scientifically speaking, I mean. We know that a Vulcan has to mate within eight days or die. Both men and women experience Pon Farr, but it's never explained if they're on the same cycle. My theory is that when the two mates are telepathically linked as children that their Pon Farr cycles are aligned. The only two options other than sex are the Kal-if-fee and intense meditation, neither of which - whommff."

Sheldon had rolled over with her, and his lips were on her face. "Sheldon? What are you doing?"

"What does it seem like?" And he ground into her, to prove his point. "Go on."

"Right now? So soon?" Where was her charmingly groggy husband?

"It must be blood fever." He ran his hands down her sides and hips. "Either keep talking or I'll have to kiss you."

"Dr. Cooper!" She laughed, she couldn't help it. She did not know if it was just absurd or maybe kinky, but it was it was certainly delicious (she liked the idea of kinky, too). Her laugh was interrupted by his tongue, and she melted into it.

Then he was hers again, tenderly this time, and he whispered in her ear, "It's making love."

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for your patience. My plan, at least for now, is to try to alternate stories, one each week. And thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	6. The Words

**The Words (takes place after _Flatland_)**

* * *

"_Amy, wait." She turned to look at Sheldon. "I'm sorry about what I said before. Because it wasn't true. I do hang off your every word."_

_She smiled again. "I know."_

* * *

They did not make love that night. Instead, they ate the pizza, deciding together that even though it was good it was easier to order it. They stayed up past their usual bedtime watching _Masterpiece_ together ('Only _because Amy loves it so much, _not_ because I was dying to know what happened next to Lady Edith_,' Sheldon thought). They drifted to bed and drifted off to sleep, after a gossip session in which they questioned whether or not Bernadette would kill Howard before the baby came.

Sheldon awoke in the dark, slightly confused, and glanced at the bedside clock. Four-thirty. He rubbed his eyes. Why was he awake so early? He almost always woke up a few minutes before the alarm went off, his brain and body conditioned for the mental stimulation of work. But two whole hours?

Was it guilt? Shame? He knew, lying the dark, that he had behaved childishly last night. He should not have gotten so angry over a book. They were just words, after all, words on a page. Amy was just expressing her opinion. Although she seemed to have forgiven him. Or wasn't even really mad at him to begin with, he wasn't sure. Amy.

He nuzzled in closer to Amy. He loved Amy in the mornings. He loved her tangled, fuller hair. He loved the way her eyelashes lay across her cheeks. He loved the sound of her barely there snores. He loved the warmth of her body. He loved the smell of her skin. He took a deep breath of her. _Amy._

Before he considered it, he was making circles on her hip with his palm. She murmured into the darkness and rolled over in his arms toward him. "Wha -"

"Shhh," he whispered in her ear. He thought he should apologize for waking her early on a work day and tell her to go back to sleep, but he didn't want to speak. Last night, he had told her he hung on every word she said. It was true. But last night, there were too many words. This morning, there was only one word upon which he wanted to hang. And only one infliction in which he wanted it spoken.

He kissed her, softly at first and then deeper. Then he pulled away, and loosened his grip. He was giving her the choice again, even though she had already rolled into him instead of batting his hand away from her hip.

Amy kissed him and grasped his pajama shirt. Her answer. She started to unbutton his shirt, and they worked together to remove their nightwear.

They met again in the middle of the bed, naked and warm. They kissed passionately, their mouths speaking to each other without words. Then Sheldon took her by the shoulders, and tried to encourage her to roll. Would she understand? He did not want to say it, he did not want to talk.

After a few seconds, Amy rolled. She had understood. This pleased him greatly. He hugged her from behind kissing her neck and shoulders and shoulder blades, using his hands on her breasts and stomach. She leaned deeply back into him, breathing hard, pressing against his arousal, an achingly wonderful feeling.

She took one of his hands and guided it down. He loved that, that Amy had understood his need for a version of silence. Appreciative for his height, he was able to pleasure her like this. He smiled deeply into her ear when she cried out. Kissing her ear, he gave her a moment to recover.

Ages ago, when it occurred to Sheldon that coitus could be more than just one act, that it could, in fact, include a lot of separate little acts including touching a woman like that, he had been horrified. This had seemed worse, somehow, then just the bathing suit areas meshing together. His hands, there, of all places, for goodness sake! Of course, at the time, coitus was not in his future so he put the disgusting thought away because it clearly would not be in his future, either. But then, and this always happened with Amy, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Why wouldn't he want to touch her there? He wanted to touch her everywhere.

Sometimes he was jealous of Amy. She had all these secrets, hidden way from him, awaiting discovery. He always felt so obvious when Amy touched him. No secrets there. True, a couple of times she had stumbled upon something that had never crossed his mind that would be especially enjoyable, like that thing she did to his nipples. But, Amy, _wonderful Amy_, was a Pandora's box of delights, never fully opened. There was one delight he wanted to find again this morning.

Guiding with his hand, he rubbed the tip of himself against her bottom. Would she understand? She curled her legs up for him. She understood. Gently, he found his way into her, still holding her. He gave a couple of slow thrusts, allowing her adjust. She adjusted the angle of her legs once, and then again. The second adjustment was obviously the correct one, because she responded to his next thrust with a deep moan. He held her even tighter, and started moving faster. He remembered that is how she liked it this way, and he took great pleasure in her rattling moans.

Until she said the word he was longing to hear, just the way he yearned for it. It came out high and fast and full of exquisite joy. "Sheldon!"

Notwithstanding his previous wish for only one word, a moment later he said a word he had not expected to say. It came out long and low and full of sublime commitment. "Amy!"

He buried his face in her hair and took another deep breath. After their breaths slowed, Amy rolled over again and buried her face in his chest. They fell asleep that way, hanging off of each other.

* * *

_**Oh, my blushes!**_

_**Also, this chapter represents the beginning of another work in my Shamyverse, **_**The Anniversary Evolution**_**. As you might imagine, the chapter **_**Year One**_** takes places after this **_**Book Club/After Dark**_** pair. I hope you enjoy it!**_


	7. Knowing

**Knowing (takes place after _Northanger Abbey_)**

* * *

_Walking toward him, she gave the smile and look she gave when he had pleased her. But how had he pleased her?_

_"Look, he's almost asleep," she said._

_Sheldon looked down. Indeed, Jacob's eyelids were hovering near closure. Oh, I pleased Amy by putting him back to sleep._

_"Do you want me to take him?" Amy asked._

_"No, I'll hold him. You said never to wake a sleeping baby," Sheldon replied._

* * *

Amy had heard it before, although not often, this slight but sharp recurring beat deep inside her. She always ignored it. Most recently, she had heard it more frequently with every coo she uttered. She continued to ignore it.

But that night, after the initial joy from the words she had overheard Sheldon say subsided, it was strong. It lingered, no matter how hard she tried not to look over him holding Howard and Bernadette's infant son while they watched television. _Tick tick._ He would grunt in his sleep, and Sheldon would look down at him, alarmed. _Tick._ Sheldon said his arm was tired and she took Jacob back from him, the heaviness warm in her arms._ Tick._ She sat down and involuntarily bent slightly to take in his soft, powdery aroma. _Tick._ She ran her hand across the downy almost-hairs of his head. _Tick._ She let him take her finger firmly in his grasp, his tiny fingernails the definition of perfection. Tick. Every few minutes, she unwittingly stroked his cloudy soft cheek with her finger. _Tick tick tick tick tick._

She heard a knock on the door, and their friends were back. There was a flurry of activity and thank yous and good-byes until they were gone._ Tiiiicccccck._

"Amy?"

"Hmmm?" She turned away from the door.

"I asked if you wanted to watch something else." Sheldon frowned. Her lack of focus annoyed him, she knew.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, let's watch something."

"Proposals?"

"Whatever you want."

He cocked his head slightly before releasing it in an almost shrug. "Very well."

And then they were in their spots, watching_ Castle_ on the DVR. Amy took his hand, and he clasped hers back, as they sometimes did. After a bit, she let go of his hand and curled up instead, laying her head in his lap. She felt his body almost imperceptibly tense for a millisecond and his head dip as he looked down at her because this was not something they did. She wondered if he would ask, she could feel his query hovering in the air; but it passed and he turned his face back toward the screen, resting his hand on her shoulder.

Her shoulders relaxed from a tension she did not know they had. She did not want to discuss it, not even with Sheldon. Sheldon, dear Sheldon!, never had a man been so loved. But never had a man asked more questions. The entire world was intriguing to him, so many things to discover and learn about and know. Normally, almost always, she savored his questions, questions she knew he would only ask her. But saying she did not want to talk about it would not be an acceptable answer, it would only frustrate him and elicit more questions. He hated it when she said that.

She did not want to discuss it because she could not explain it. It wasn't that it was irrational; it was a widely accepted belief, the psychological phenomena caused by a proven physical mechanism. But conventional wisdom wasn't easy to explain. It wasn't about the hard and fast rules of physics, it was about metaphysics.

When their show ended, Sheldon turned off the television and announced it was bed time. So it was.

"Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute. There's something I want to do first," Amy said. She went to her computer, and Sheldon went to the bathroom although she thought maybe there was subtle pause before he walked away. No, she must have imagined it.

She waited, aimlessly checking Facebook and Intstagram, until she heard him leave the bathroom and go to the bedroom. Only then did she go brush her teeth and her hair, taking longer with those nightly tasks than necessary.

Sheldon, of course, was waiting for her. He was lying in bed, but his arms were folded behind his head in an entirely unusual pose for him. It was almost enough to make her smile, but she was not in the mood to smile. She suspected he had counted each extra second she had spent coming to the bedroom and puzzling over them, and he was trying to look casual.

Amy also noticed he was wearing pajamas, and this eased her. She was not in the mood for that, either, so she put on her flannel night gown and crawled into bed.

"Good night, Sheldon," she said and rolled on her side, facing away from him, trying not to the think about the look she had seen on his face in the split second she started to roll away from him.

"Good night, Amy," he replied and he turned off his bedside lamp, throwing the room into darkness.

They lay still for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, although Amy was trying her best to push her thoughts away from her and replace them with something else. Eventually, Sheldon rolled toward her and wrapped his arms around her, although she couldn't deny he waited longer than normal and his arm felt hesitant.

"Amy?" He whispered in her ear.

"Yes?" She almost sighed, thinking she was going to have to talk about it after all. But she didn't sigh; there was something there, something soft in his voice, that stopped her.

"Roll over. I want to tell you something," he said gingerly.

She did. He brought one hand up and caressed her cheek with the back of it, before resting his palm in her hair. Even though the dark made his blue eyes look black, she could see the intensity in them.

"I love you." He brought his other hand up and griped both sides her face, with gentle force. Not painfully, but with enough pressure to make her notice. He put his forehead against hers, not just touching but pushing a tiny bit. "I. Love. You. I l_ove_ you. I love y_ou_. You. You."

She knew, then, that he has heard it, the faint tapping in her soul. He was telling her so. She did not know, though, what else he was trying to tell her. She did not know if he was trying to sooth it away or if he was promising it would come some day. She did not know if he even knew. Whatever it was, he did not know the words, so he told her the words he did know.

She did know that he meant it, that his love was a force he could not express, just as she knew he meant whatever this other thing was he could not express. She did know that her entire life was spent waiting for those moments, lying with him in the dark, and even now her days were filler between them. She did know that she loved him with such devotion it swam around her and through her, and the sound of it rushing in her ears had the power to drown out all other sounds. Sheldon was, is, will be more than enough.

As she nodded, he released her and caressed her cheek one more time. She buried her face the crook of his neck, and fell asleep there, hearing only the sound of his breathing.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for your reviews._**


	8. Self-Expression

**Self-Expression (takes place after _Pride and Prejudice and Zombies_)**

* * *

_"In the home where the most intimate human relations hold, there is an atmosphere of affection and confidence, permitting full self-expression."_

_Forgetting completely about the tea kettle, he watched Amy, falling in love with her a little bit more._

* * *

Sheldon watched her, across the room, concentrating on her computer screen, knowing there were depths to her that he did not understand. He looked back down at the open book.

"Self-expression," it said.

More than once, Amy had told him that one of the things she loved most about him was that he was never afraid of being exactly who he was. He did not entirely understand this concept; who else would he be? But now he thought that maybe she was talking about self-expression. Was this quote, and by extension Amy, talking about the verbalization of ideas? He would have said he excelled at the verbalization of ideas. The explanation of an abstract idea, after all, was his life's work.

Except, well . . . "the most intimate of human relations." He rarely talked about that. (Still, years later, he was flummoxed by the memory of the day he volunteered to get the die from across his bedroom and verbalize things, physical things, to Amy. It was as though some strange Sheldon, a Sheldon from the future, perhaps, had travelled through time to help him. The whole experience still boggled his mind.) Sometimes, of course, it couldn't be helped. Whispering in the dark made it easier. But he was mostly content to let Amy talk about it. He was inclined to think she liked talking about it, especially right afterwards. If he did feel the need to ask her a question, she wasn't the least embarrassed to tell him every detail. She was more verbal than him, during, too. Surprisingly, he found he didn't mind, but he did not know if he enjoyed it just for the sound of her voice, her own excitement reflecting off of him, or if the words themselves lent power to the excitement. And Amy was a biologist, of course; was it because biological functions were surely ordinary to her that she could talk so easily about their intimate relations?

There was one phrase that Amy loved to hear, he knew, one phrase he rarely used. Not that he didn't feel it; in fact, he never ceased being surprised at how powerfully he felt it. It just wasn't something he often said, it just felt . . . strange in his mouth. But Amy loved it. He loved her. And,_ oh boy,_ he really felt it in that moment. It wasn't an abstract idea at all, so surely he was capable of expressing this to her, his wife. He shut the textbook and walked over to her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Finding and sending this recipe to Raj that he asked about," she answered, not looking at him.

"It is urgent?"

"No." She looked up. "Why?"

"Because," he bent down to whisper in her ear, "I want you."

He saw her face flush. _I've pleased her._

"Mmmm, do you, Dr. Cooper? Well, in that case . . ." She started to get up.

He gently put his hand on her shoulder. "Wait. First, I want to, um . . . I'm going to tell you what I plan on doing."

She raised her eyebrows and her eyes twinkled. He loved the twinkle. She eased back into the chair. "Okay. I'm listening."

_Oh, Albert Einstein, this was bad idea. What do I say? _"First, after I disrobe you, I am going to use my superior longitudinal tongue muscle on your lobulus auriculae in an undulating motion. Then, I am going to use that same muscle on your papilla mammaria and areola in a orbicular motion until you vellicate. After that -"

Amy put her hand on his arm. He stopped. "What? Is not the order you would prefer?"

"No, it's not that." She signed softly. "Have you seen that episode of _Friends_ where Rachel starts dating the gynecologist, and he asks her if she wants to make coffee at home after making it all day at work?"

"I don't understand a single word of that sentence." Sheldon was frustrated. What had he done wrong? And why on earth would Amy start babbling about unrelated nonsense at a time like this? _Oh, no, was it that bad?_

"Never mind, bad example. It's just that, well . . . it's so very clinical when you say it that way."

"But I thought you would like it. It's scientific. And you like it when I try new things."

"Oh, Sheldon," she grasped his hand. "I like the idea of it very, very much. But when you say it that way, well," she shrugged, "it sounds like work."

Then he understood. He did not like it to be work, either; in fact, that was the exact phrase he had used with her when he told her he wanted to stop using the _Kama Sutra_ (how embarrassed he had been talking about that!). "How should I say it?"

She smiled. "I like . . . euphemisms, allusions, things like that. I like to use my imagination."

"Euphemisms aren't really my forte."

"I know." She kissed the back of his hand. "So don't worry about it, then."

Sheldon nodded. He still felt the clutch of failure, but it was fading. Amy always said the right things. "I think the mood has dissipated hasn't it?"

"The night is still young. Maybe later."

"Indeed." He squeezed her hand and let it go. He went to his own computer, his mind churning.

* * *

Reading at his computer, he heard her stand even before she spoke. "I'm going to bed, Sheldon."

He closed his program. "I'll join you."

Their evening rituals firmly in place, they didn't need to speak. Sheldon undressed with his usual precision, and climbed nude into bed. He watched Amy undress with interest; he always loved it when he managed to get into bed before her. She was not so precise, she just threw things into the hamper, but he found this charming if unexplainable. He saw her glance furtively over at him, gauging his state of dress or undress. She lifted the covers up and slid in next to him, her naked skin brushing his. He turned off the beside lamp and rolled toward her, immediately pulling her lips to his.

Her lips were tracing his ear when he whispered, "Amy?"

"Mmmmmmm," was her only reply.

"I, uh, well, um," he cleared his throat and she pulled away from him. He forced himself to look the outline of her face. "Um, your body is an ivory pillar, a Grecian statue of such nobility and grace the gods weep in anguish. Your hair, your hair!, it so dark and deep that even a moonless night cannot contain it. When I gaze into your eyes, I can only see the ends of the earth. I long to whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you are full of them. I will kiss your lips of Cupid and drink from you, partaking of your honied soul. And then I will take my small, pink lingual organ and lap against your soft earlobe until I hear the murmuration of your gilded throat. Meanwhile, I will use my nimble digits to release your heaving bosom from its linen imprisonment. Once your powdery snowcaps are liberated, I shall stroke them with my palm until I attend you to moan upon the cold winter's air. At last, unable to contain my ceaseless passion, I shall take one of your delicate, pale rosebuds into my mouth and coddle it until you beseech me to -"

Amy put her hand upon his arm for the second that evening. He seethed. _What is wrong this time? This is hopeless!_

"Sheldon, have you been composing these florid words all evening?" she asked. But she sounded slightly breathless.

"I, uh, well, if you must know," he felt his cheeks flush, "I looked up an M-rated_ Pride and Prejudice_ fanfic. Because I noticed at the book store that you, uh, well you looked aroused when I repeated what you said about Mr. Darcy being randy. But I'm beginning to think it was poorly written."

Amy laughed, loud and full. As always, Sheldon thought the sound of her mirth just might make his heart explode. She was not angry.

"It is poorly written, isn't it?" he asked. "Is it too much?"

"Oh, yes, it's complete rubbish. But, no, it's not too much." She pulled him in for a kiss. "And, for the record, it wasn't Mr. Darcy that aroused me. It was you. It's always you. So be still my beating heart with your magniloquent prose, Mr. Cooper." Another deeper kiss. "I believe I was just about to beseech you to do some indecorous thing to my person."

"Quite indecorous, indeed, fair lady. You beseech me to . . ."

* * *

**_AN: Oh, Shelly . . . Thank you for your reviews!_**


	9. Denial

_**AN: Surprise! There is an extra chapter for After Dark this week! It's a bit a surprise to me, too, as I wrote this chapter several weeks ago but wasn't going to post it as it doesn't meet my self-created rules for After Dark stories. But then a reader who is also a friend informed me that you'd all rather have an extra chapter than yours truly adhering to some sort of self-imposed rule. So here it is. And, no, it doesn't follow the rules. But I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!**_

* * *

**Denial (takes place concurrent with_ Le Petit Prince_)**

* * *

_Apparently, he had also lost track of time, because when Amy softly asked him if he would mind if she went out with the girls, he had just shrugged. He was so disconnected he didn't know it was the last evening of the month._

* * *

"Ames! You made it!" Penny cheered from her seat at the table. "Watcha drinking tonight?"

Amy sat down between her two girlfriends. "Just water. I drove myself. No DD."

"Ah, you deserve some wine. We can give you a ride home," Bernadette offered.

"No, thank you. Then we'll have to come get the car later and it will be weird."

"Well, anyway, we're just glad you decided to come," Penny said after the waiter came to take their order. "What was it you thought you were doing tonight?"

Amy frowned. "Technically, it's Book Club Night. But Sheldon didn't read the book. I mean, I don't think so, because he hasn't said anything about it. I decided at the last minute I needed a night out. Not that Sheldon is likely to notice, so I don't know why I'm worried."

Her friends exchanged a look she was, unfortunately, becoming all too familiar with lately before beaming exaggerated smiles back at her.

"So, how's work?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"And, uh, the harp?" Penny asked

"Fine."

"And . . . reading?" Bernadette asked.

"Fine."

"Hmmmm," Penny and Bernadette hummed in unison before exchanging another glance.

"Oh, I forgot!" Bernadette said. "I got the first proofs from the photographer today of Jacob's pictures. Let me pull up the link." She fiddled with her phone for a moment before passing it to Penny.

"Bernadette, he's adorable," Penny squealed as she flipped through the images. "These are so great! Now that he's finally getting some hair he looks more like you. And that smile!"

"Yeah, I think he's already mastered the art of flirting. I blame Howie."

Amy's friends chuckled, and then Amy realized she wasn't so she joined in. Penny passed her the phone. Jacob Wolowitz's chubby smile filled the screen. Amy flipped through as quickly as she thought she could and still be tactful. She could not deal with a happy baby. "Yes, these are good."

Another glance exchange.

"Well, girls, what should we do? If we want to recapture our youth, I'd say let's go dancing. But, honestly, I could eat a horse," Penny said

"Me, too, I haven't had dinner yet. We're in a Spanish bar, let's have tapas!" Bernadette replied.

Amy had no idea how long she had been staring down into her water glass before she noticed the silence. She looked up to see her friends looking at her. "Yes, food is fine."

"Perfect, here comes our waiter," Penny said. After she and Bernadette discussed and questioned and ordered for all of them, she spoke again, "I have some maybe good news. Remember that horrible SyFy movie I did? Where I was doing research in the arctic but there was rare arctic snow tsunami with crocodiles in it?"

"_Crocazard!_ Of course, we all went the premiere, remember?" Bernadette said excitedly.

"My agent called and said they're writing a sequel. Well, it's really the same story. Just in Antarctica this time with alligators, but you know."

"Penny, that's wonderful! To Penny and _Crocazard 2_!" She lifted her glass for a toast.

Another pause before Amy realized they were looking at her. She lifted her glass. "Yeah, to Penny."

After they all took a drink, Penny sat her drink down with a deep sigh. "Ames, sweetie, do you want to talk about it? Because it's obvious you're not paying any attention to our attempts to cheer you up."

Amy felt guilty. And exhausted. And exhausted of feeling guilty. It was one the few emotions in constant rotation this month: confusion, sadness, anxiety, and guilt. "I'm sorry. I guess I've not been much fun lately."

"Don't apologize to us. We're worried about you. And Sheldon. Have you guys talked about it?" Bernadette asked.

"MeeMaw? No. That would require an actual conversation. With complete sentences. If Sheldon managed five syllables in a row I'd be thrilled."

"Is he at least eating now? He's getting scary skinny," Penny said.

"No. I've tried all his favorites, but he just pushes it around his plate and picks at it and takes maybe three bites. I even asked his mother for her pecan pie recipe and slaved all afternoon on it, and that didn't work."

Penny and Bernadette nodded slowly and they all took a drink. No one spoke. Finally Amy took a deep breath. "Thanks for asking. And trying to help. Or at least cheer me up. But I just don't know what to do. The hardest part is that I think Sheldon doesn't realize that everything has changed. I think he thinks as long as he sticks to all his routines no one will notice. How do you deal with that? Isn't ending denial the first step any healing process?"

"Do you want me to talk to him? I didn't know I was depressed at first. I thought I was just tired and overwhelmed, that every new mother felt like that. Honestly," Bernadette blushed, "I might still be that horrible place if you hadn't sat me down and bluntly told me what you suspected, Amy. I'll always be grateful to you for that. Maybe I could repay the favor."

Bernadette reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Almost immediately, Amy felt a tear running down her cheek. She reached up with her free hand to stop it. "Sorry. I guess I'm emotional, too. And, well, if we're being honest, I'm starving for physical affection. Thank you for your offer. But I don't think he'd take it well from you. I think it has to be . . ." Amy's breath rattled as another unwelcome tear squeezed out. "I think I'm going to ask his mom to come. Because I obviously can't do it. Me, his wife. I'm such a failure!"

"Oh, sweetie, you're not a failure." Penny passed her a napkin. "Do you want to leave? I'll find our waiter and cancel our order. It will piss him off, but I'm sure he's used to it. There's always one table, and it'll just be us tonight."

"No, no," Amy patted her face. "That's it, I think. I just hadn't said it before. Knowing something and saying it out loud can be two different things."

"You're not a failure, Amy. You single handily turned Sheldon Cooper into a real boy. I'm sure this is just a rough patch, and you guys will be fine. You're perfect for each other!" Penny said.

"That only makes it worse. I feel so hopeless. I love him so much, but I can't seem to reach him. It's so hard to watch someone you love shrivel up like that, and you feel like you have no control over it. Maybe we're not so perfect together after all." Amy shrugged.

"Listen to me, Amy," Bernadette's voice turned gravelly and deeper. "Do not say that. I know you think we were all so drunk we wouldn't remember, but not so long ago you lectured Penny and me when we needed some tough love. Here's my tough love: yeah, your marriage sucks right now. Yes, Sheldon is probably depressed and acting like an asshole or whatever. But you did nothing wrong. I can't believe the Amy I know would ever be afraid to speak her mind. So you just need to sit that man of your's down, tell him that he needs help, and you're going to get it for him. Or maybe both of you, I won't pretend to know everything about your marriage."

Amy shook her head. "I'm not even sure he listens when I talk anymore. And there is no way I'll ever get Sheldon to a physiologist or someone like that. Although maybe just the threat would wake him up. Oh, I don't know. I keep thinking that one little thing will reach him."

"Do you want us to do it all together? Like an intervention?" Penny asked. "Because the guys are worried too, you know."

"I know. They've all come to talk to me." She shook her head again, recalling how embarrassed and sad those conversations had made her. "No, I think that's too confrontational."

There was another pause as they all stared into their respective drinks.

"When are you going to call his mom?" Bernadette asked.

"Soon, I guess."

"Sweetie, we'll support you whatever you decide to do. But I think I you need to do it before this goes on any longer," Penny said.

"Maybe you're right. I just wish we could figure this out ourselves. We're intelligent adults, right? We love each other. I refuse to believe otherwise. So why can't we do this?"

"I think you can," Bernadette said. "Penny's right, I'll support you no matter what you decide. But I don't think you need Mary Cooper. You just need each other."

_You just need each other._

Amy let the words roll about in her head. All she had never needed was Sheldon. She liked to think the same was true for him. She realized that perhaps she had been in a bit of denial herself this month. She nodded. "Give me a week, okay? I need to think of the best way to approach this. It probably won't be tomorrow. But I'll talk to him this week. You can hold me to it."

Penny and Bernadette smiled at her, and they were genuine smiles, not the forced over-large ones they had used earlier in the evening. Then their food came, and there was the usual busyness that always accompanies that.

"How about we go see a movie?" Penny asked.

"I'd love that. I haven't been to a movie since Jacob was born," Bernadette said.

"There's that new movie,_ Housewives_, that's the sequel to _Bridesmaids_. We could all use a laugh. It's about married women in the their thirties, just like us," Penny said.

"Penny, you're the only housewife," Amy said. "And you just turned thirty."

"No, I'm an actor currently between jobs. That's different. And all the women in the movie have jobs."

"Then why is it called _Housewives_?" Amy asked.

"I read it's supposed to be ironic. You know, just because even though a woman has a full-time job, she's still expected to do all the chores of a housewife, too," Bernadette answered. "Well, except maybe you, Amy. You're so lucky Sheldon is a neat freak and does his fair share of the cleaning and laundry."

"Yeah. The only freak in our house is Sara, and she only comes once a week and charges for it," Penny quipped.

"When you say it like that she sounds like a prostitute, not your cleaning lady," Amy said.

First Bernadette laughed, then Penny, and, finally Amy joined in. Laughing and remembering how good it felt to laugh, she knew they were right. She and Sheldon could fix this. They only needed each other. And maybe their friends.


	10. The Knot

**The Knot (take places after _Le Petit Prince_)**

* * *

_Early in the morning, Sheldon found Amy again and tied himself to her._

* * *

Amy rose up slowly, her mind still in the violet haze where everything is both possible and impossible, but her body already opening to the kisses on her face and the fingertips circling over her stomach. _Mmmmm, Sheldon. _It all felt so familiar and comforting and yet, every time, it made her heart race. _Yessss, Sheldon. _His kisses became more urgent, and she felt her nipples harden beneath his touch. _Ohhhh, Sheldon, why does it feel like it has been so long?_

Sheldon. Her eyes popped open. She knew he didn't notice, as his face was deep in her neck and collarbones. It had been exactly thirty-two days. She knew the date as surely as she knew her birthday, as surely as she knew the date she met him, as surely as she knew the date she finally become his. Sheldon had not even tried to kiss her in thirty-two days.

Her mind, now fully awake, began to fight her body. No, we shouldn't do this. _Yes, let__'__s. _No, we need to talk first. _We__'__ll talk later._ No, I should not give myself over to desire. _Desire feels so good. _This is not healthy, this is not a healthy way to rescue a relationship._ Sexually active people generally enjoy better health._ Her mind was winning, as her body had given up to her knowledge and logic. Despite their faults, they had never once used sex as a weapon or an excuse or a bandage; their living room floor sex was a game and they both knew it. And she was not going to allow it to start now.

Before she could speak, though, the kissing stopped.

"I"m sorry, Amy. I can't. I want to, but I can't. You deserve -" The last word came out as a sob. She pulled him in closer, and he slumped into her and let her hold him, soothing his hair while he cried. Fortunately, his tears did not last long that morning, unlike the night before. She heard his blubbering die away, leaving only raspy breathes.

"This is what we are going to do," she whispered into his ear, trying to convey both solace and certainty. "We are both going to take a personal day. Let's go back to sleep now since it's still so early and we'll sleep in. You've not been sleeping well. Once we're awake, I'm going to make you a huge breakfast of whatever you want, and you're going to eat it. All of it. You've lost too much weight. And then we're going to talk. Very seriously and for a long time."

She did not phrase it as a question or an optional plan. It was what they were going to do. She had come to concede Penny's point, at some point the prior evening, when Sheldon cried so long and hard in her arms that she was afraid he might become ill or hyperventilate, that she had let this, whatever this was, go on too long. It was her fault; she knew even that first week after MeeMaw died that something was very wrong with Sheldon. It was grief, she knew, but it was the deepest, darkest grief she had even seen; it had seemed to traverse through grief and into pathos.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and then Sheldon said, "Yes."

"Do you want me to leave the message for you?" she asked, letting go of him.

"No, I'll do it." They both reached for their phones, and they both called and left messages with their respective departments that they would not be in that day.

"I'm turning my phone off," Sheldon volunteered.

"Good idea." Amy did the same. Then she lay back down. She waited for the Sheldon to relax next to her, but he didn't. He was still sitting up, looking at her.

"Amy, do you mind - I think - can we talk now? At least for a little while?"

A tiny bubble of hope rose in her. She tried to keep her voice calm, afraid of breaking it. "Of course. Would you rather go to the living room? Have some tea?"

"No. I want to do it here." Then he laid down next to her, but she noticed that his movements seemed stiff. Neither of them moved to turn on a light; Amy hoped he would relax more in the dark, as he often did.

But now that she had finally broached this painful subject, she had no idea what to say, how to start the conversation. He didn't speak, either. But she knew she should not, they could not, ignore this one more hour.

"Sheldon -"

"Amy -"

She turned her head to look at him; he did the same. She curled up close to him and gingerly laid her head on his shoulder, tucking her arms in close to her chest. Despite the way the morning had started, it had been thirty-two days since Sheldon had allowed her touch him. He had cringed away from her attempts at comforting hugs, shimmied just out of reach of every attempt at a smallest, gentlest touch.

This time, though, he did not move away from her. Instead, he reached over and placed just his fingertips on her shoulder. It gave her the courage she needed.

"Sheldon," she started again, "I honestly don't know what to say. But I know something has to be said. I know it's going to be talking about your emotions, and you hate that, but . . ."

"I don't hate it with you."

"Then why didn't you talk to me for so long?" She regretted the sharpness as soon as it was out of her mouth. This was not the best approach. She should not make it sound like she was blaming him. "I'm sorry, that came out wrong. I'm not angry with you."

"It didn't come out wrong. It came out exactly right."

Hearing him say it, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, without a single hint of judgement, she experienced a reprieve for which she didn't even know she was waiting.

"Fine," she said, this time honestly, "I am angry with you. I am hurt. I am confused. I don't understand what I did wrong, I don't understand why you wouldn't talk to me, wouldn't let me help you, support you."

"I don't know. I wish I did. Please believe me, Amy, it's the truth. You didn't do anything wrong, but I know I treated you like you did. I don't know. I understand if you feel that's not good enough for you, because it's not. I was - I don't know how to describe it."

"Please try."

He sighed softly. "I will. It won't make any sense. It doesn't even make sense to me." He sighed again. "It was like I was in a dream. I knew everything that was happening, I felt like I was thinking clearly - maybe you'll disagree - but I felt like I was there. I remember having conversations, doing things I always do, but it was like I didn't . . . care. I felt like I wasn't myself, trapped in this uncertain, empty state. Even though I knew it wasn't like me, I couldn't get out of it. I was treading water. But . . . I think I felt like no one cared about me. Even though I knew it wasn't true. You've taught me so many things, Amy, and one of those things is how much you care. And not just you, my friends, too. But . . . I don't know. It was like MeeMaw was dead and I was sad, but after everyone said all these nice, sympathetic things, everything in their lives just went on like normal. But I don't have my MeeMaw to call every week. . . It's so illogical."

Amy reached up to wipe a tear off her cheek. "I don't just care. I love you."

"I know. You love me more than . . . Before I met you, I always thought this kind of love was a social construct, a delusion that people told themselves to make their lives easier or justify sex. That I was strong enough without it. But then I met you and I -" His voice broke, and he lifted his hand off of her to wipe his own face. She lay there, silently, letting him gather himself. "I don't understand what any of this has to do with MeeMaw. I loved her, too, but it was different, of course. I'm meandering and it's beneath me."

"I like it when you meander."

"You would."

Unbidden, a hint of a smile played on the edges of her mind. There was something in his voice that she had missed like mad. There was hauteur, to be sure, but there was mostly love. Love. She let the word melt in her brain. This was how the Sheldon of thirty-days ago would have teased her. The more recent Sheldon, the shell of a Sheldon, didn't have any interest in teasing her. He lacked spark. He was so distant, too far away to put any emotion into his words.

"Sheldon, I'm sure you understand that just because your friends move on with their lives, it doesn't mean they don't love you anymore or care about your loss. And I happen to know they've all been very worried about you."

"I do. I know. I feel foolish. MeeMaw was an elderly woman and her health has been poor recently. She still lived in Texas, I didn't see her every day or even every month. I shouldn't have been surprised."

"You can still feel sad and mourn someone even if you are prepared for their death. There's nothing wrong with that. And I'm not blameless. I let you go for too long, without trying to intervene. I'm sorry, Sheldon. I don't why I did that. I should have been honest with you sooner and stood up to you, made you face your feelings."

He shifted beneath her, and she moved off of him. He rolled on his side to look at her, and brought a hand up to her cheek. "Amy? Will we be okay? Have I ruined us?"

"Oh, Sheldon, you could never ruin us. It's my fault, too. We're always best when we just talk about things, and you were too sad or lost to talk and I was too afraid to make you talk and somehow we both lost sight of that. . ." She took a deep breath. "We'll be okay. We'll make sure of it. We'll be better than okay."

He nodded. "I want to say something. It's the most important thing I've ever said, and I'm so angry that I let myself go so long without saying it to you."

"Okay."

"I love you, Amy Farrah Fowler." He took her hand, kissed her palm and placed it on his stomach. Her thumb grazed his tenth rib, more exposed now that he was too thin. _This is bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh_; the words flitted across Amy's brain. Sheldon continued, "You hold the weak parts of me together. I'm sorry I forgot that."

Then he smiled at her, a sweet, sad, lovely smile. Slowly, he leaned toward her and kissed her very gently, his lips barely pressing against hers. "I'm so sorry, Amy."

"Oh, Sheldon, I'm so sorry, too." Amy batted back a tear, and it occurred to her she did not want to wallow in self-pity. "Listen, today, we can say that to each other. We probably ought to say it several times. But, beginning tomorrow, we won't say it again. Not about this. Tomorrow, we move forward."

He nodded. She took his hand in hers, and curled completely into him. They fell asleep. They would sleep in and eat a huge breakfast. They would sit on the sofa together, talking, for hours. In the dark again, she would fully open her body for him. But, that morning, with dawn just breaking over the horizon, she wove her fingers through his, feeling their rings touching, and they knotted themselves together while they slept.


	11. Being Wrong

**Being Wrong (takes place after _The Picture of Dorian Gray_)**

* * *

_Amy was so happy she did not want him disappointed in any way. "Dr. Cooper, there is only one way I ever want you on your knees before me."_

_He raised one eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Fowler, ask and you shall receive. To the shower!"_

_Surprising her with sudden action, he pulled her up and led her to the bathroom. She laughed the whole way._

* * *

"What are you doing? The water is hot," Sheldon asked from the behind the shower curtain.

"Just tying my hair up. It will only a take a second," Amy replied. Indeed, almost immediately he heard her scamper over to him, and the curtain moved aside as she stepped in.

He shifted so that she could take her place under the falling water. After grabbing a wash cloth and the soap, he started methodically cleaning her shoulders and back. Unable to resist her, he followed with a string of kisses.

"Mmm, that's lovely, but remember what happened the last time we tried to do it in the shower."

His tailbone ached at the memory. He grumbled, "I thought I broke my coccyx."

Because she was right, he sighed in frustration and returned to just washing her in silence. Because of the parts he was washing, the aching spread. He heard her sharp intake of air when he let his fingertip explore her, just for a second or two. Desire building, he chanced kissing her on the very junction of her lower abdomen and her dark curls.

Suddenly, the warm water was gone. He looked up. "Why did you turn the water off?"

"First, because if you do that here, I'm fairly certain I'll collapse and break my coccyx. Second, I have another idea." Amy opened the shower curtain, and goosebumps immediately raised on their flesh from the cooler air.

They stepped out, and Amy handed him his towel. Drying off, he asked, "What is your idea?"

"Spoilers, Dr. Cooper," she smirked. His heart skipped a beat. After a few more quick rub downs with the towel, she added, "Give me five minutes."

She practically ran out of the bathroom.

His interest was too piqued for him to even care that she had just dropped her towel on the floor. He finished drying himself and then placed both towels over the towel bar, working to make sure they were even and straight. His mind was running through the possibilities. She had quoted River Song, so perhaps this was some sort of _Doctor Who_ based sex game. His heart skipped another beat. To kill time, he opened the medicine cabinet to make sure everything was in order. _This is the longest five minutes of my life!_

Mercifully, he finally felt certain a full five minutes had passed. He peered out of the bathroom. The bedroom door was shut. "Amy?"

"I'm ready. Come in."

Sheldon walked down the short hallway and pushed open their bedroom door. Amy was lying on the bed, on her side, in a very come-hither pose, dressed as Nurse Chapel. His heart skipped five beats. _Even better than Doctor Who!_

She spoke before he could. "I'm in love with you, Mr. Spock. The human half and the Vulcan half. I love you just as you are."

Feeling like he was on Vulcan's equator, Sheldon said, "First, you have mixed quotes from _Doctor Who_ with quotes from _Star Trek_. Second, Nurse Chapel, you've gotten your lines wrong."

Amy smirked. "Well, Mr. Spock, from what I see, it looks like it doesn't matter to you in the least. Now get over here and ravish me."

Because she was right, Sheldon was next to her, holding her face, kissing her. His hand touched her breast, and he felt it respond beneath the blue uniform. "You're not wearing a bra."

"I thought that was point."

Because she was right, he rolled her over on her back and used both hands to caress her breasts. Then he snaked one of his hands down and toyed with the hem of her skirt that had been creeping upwards. "Nurse Chapel, this is not a regulation uniform. It is entirely too long. Additionally," his hand went under her skirt, and he followed the curve of her posterior upwards, "you're not wearing any underpants."

"I am certain we already decided that was the point."

He squeezed her firm bottom. "So, we'll be leaving this on?"

She stopped kissing his jaw. "I thought you would like it."

"Oh, I do. But you can't fool me," he touched her innermost place with his finger tips, and she gasped, "you like it, too."

Sheldon didn't let her respond. Instead he got up and pulled her toward to the edge of the bed.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I am certain we already decided that I would be on my knees." And then he was between her legs, and he lifted her vexing skirt and put his head under it. He heard her sexy laugh, and he quieted her by kissing her inner thigh. He had almost reached the apex when she bucked. Smiling to himself in the privacy of his blue tent, he said, "Patience, Nurse Chapel."

Then his started slowly kissing her other thigh, starting at her knee. He could hear Amy's deep breaths of anticipation, and the sound of them was almost too much to take. Even before he was half-way up her creamy skin, he took two fingers and slid them into her. She moaned. "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," she moaned.

He found the spot he was looking for and pressed there. Her back arched off the bed. "Or this?"

"Yes, yes," she squealed.

He brought his lips and tongue to her sensitive knot of nerve endings for a kiss. She arched again, higher. "Or this?" And he kissed her there, again.

"Sheldon, dear Lord - I mean, Spock," she almost screamed at the end.

He took his lips away from her, although he kept his fingers inside of her, pressing, drawing, circling. "Now, now, I'm fairly certainly that was the most illogical thing you've ever said."

"You liked it," she panted.

Because she was right, so very right, he smiled again and buried his face back where it had been, deep within her skirt.

* * *

**_AN: Oh, come on, you knew it was only a matter of time before that dress came out to play! Maybe I should have entitled this chapter The Cliche. _**


	12. Honeymoon

**Honeymoon (takes place 3 nights after _Somewhere in Time_)**

* * *

_"Give a woman a diamond ring and she expects a honeymoon," he grumbled._

* * *

Amy sighed and rested her chin upon her palm, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The pose made her think of Juliet. She gazed out to the ocean, watching the sun slowly sinking over the water, the golden pink shimmers stretching out as far as her eyes could see. She thought it was beautiful. She thought her Romeo should join her to watch.

Speaking of Sheldon, what was he doing? He was making all sorts of racket behind her, in their hotel room.

"Sheldon, what are you doing? Come out here. I want to show you something," she called, turning to look at the open sliding door.

Sheldon's head popped out. "What is it? I'm not dressed."

She stood up straight and turned around fully. "You're not dressed? You look dressed."

"I'm not wearing any socks or shoes."

She rolled her eyes. "It's two or three steps at the most on the balcony. Come here, I want to show something."

He sighed but came over to stand next to her. "What?"

"Look at the sunset."

"What about it?"

"It's beautiful. I love how pink it looks."

"It only looks pink because the shorter wavelength components of sunlight scatter more strongly the long wavelengths, so the short wavelength colors of blue and green are removed from the beam leaving the long wavelength colors of red and pink."

Amy sighed again and resumed her Juliet pose. "I don't care. It's beautiful."

Sheldon leaned against the railing next to her and took her free hand in his. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her lips turning up slightly, charmed. Sheldon wasn't looking at her, he was watching the sunset.

"Amy, are you sad to be leaving tomorrow?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. She said nothing else, enjoying the feel of his soft, warm hand surrounding hers.

After what she supposed was moment's reflection, Sheldon said, "Actually, me too."

Her heart started to glow along with the sunset. It wasn't just vindication she felt because she was right: Sheldon would enjoy a vacation if he would just allow himself to relax into it. She was glowing because it had been even more wonderful than she imagined. After his the first afternoon of grousing, he had been mostly tolerant of lying about and reading and sleeping in late. He agreed to stay up late, cuddling in bed, watching _Somewhere in Time_, although he had fallen asleep before it was over. This morning he had actually consented to room service and staying in bed to do the crossword puzzle together, even though Amy was the crossword puzzle fan. The best part was the way he had given her shoulder a bacon-scented kiss after every correct clue. True, despite Sheldon's snide comment on their first afternoon, it had not been a steamy sexcapade. They had made love, of course, more than once, but in their habitual and reassuring fashion. Which was, honestly, her favorite. And now here he was admitting he was sad to leave! On impulse, she reached over to kiss his cheek.

He looked at her and smiled. "Amy?"

"Yes?"

"Can I show you something now? Something I've been, uh, looking at for a while?"

Intrigued, Amy nodded.

He leaned down very, very close and whispered in her ear, "It's inside."

The combination of his breath and his almost-touching lips sent a shiver down her spine. Sheldon didn't let go of her hand as he led her back into the room, and shut the sliding door behind them.

She noticed it immediately. Sheldon had removed everything, including a rather large lamp, from the dresser in the room. Amy looked at him with a wrinkled brow, "Sheldon, what's going on?"

"So, this dresser, I like it."

"Oookay."

"I mean, I've thought about it, and it's a good height. We don't have anything this height at home."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "A good height?"

He nodded, his blue eyes blazing.

"What about the wall?" she asked, her body pulsing with excitement.

"If you recall, the stairwell is on the other side of that wall. Because I insisted on being close the fire escape. And, well, I've also determined it's very substantial piece of furniture."

"Have you now?"

He shrugged. "I'm more than just a pretty face."

Amy smiled. "How, exactly, does one definitively prove that a piece of furniture is substantial? Are you sure you've performed all the proper tests?"

"You make a valid argument. There is one test that I did not perform, because it involves two people."

"Two people?"

"Indeed." He raised one eyebrow.

Amy shook her head softly but couldn't keep from smirking. Sheldon smiled back. Finally, she threw up her free hand. "Well, are you going to help me up there or am I going to have to do it myself?"

In an instant, Sheldon's lips were on hers, his hands pulling up her sundress. They parted to take the dress over her head and he said, "I thought you'd never stop asking questions, woman."

Then his face was buried in her neck. Amy ran her hands under his shirts, feeling the warm smoothness of his skin. Again they separated just long enough to remove them. His beautiful chest now exposed, she leaned in to run her tongue over his nipples, swirling in a figure eight pattern. He shivered.

"Oh, Amy."

She pulled his head back down to her lips, and once he was firmly occupied there, she lowered her hands to his pants, releasing his belt. Slithering her hand inside of his briefs, she stroked him, lightly, before reaching for his waistband. His husky breath thrilled her. Meanwhile, he reached around behind her, unhooking her bra, running his hand over her newly available flesh. She paused with her hands still on his hips, leaning her forehead into him, as he circled, circled her own nipples.

"Oh, Sheldon."

Swiftly, she dropped along with his pants and briefs, bringing them down to his ankles so he could step out of them. She let her hands go to drop her bra on the floor next to them. On her way back up, she was inspired to take a risk. Without warning him, she passed her tongue up his shaft and across the tip of him.

"Amy!" He gripped her shoulders.

"Shhhhh," she whispered coming back up to look at his blue eyes. "That's all. Okay?"

He nodded. "It was . . . yes."

They smiled at each other before their mouths crashed together again, this time with Sheldon walking her backwards, supporting her and guiding her with his arms, his lips never leaving hers. She felt the edge of the dresser on her tailbone. In a surprising display of strength, Sheldon lifted her up in one agile, smooth motion. Amy yelped into his mouth.

"Are you okay?" he pulled away to ask.

"Very okay. Just surprised you were able to do that."

"I told you I'm more than a pretty face." His impish look, his single raised eyebrow, _dear Lord, _they almost killed her.

Before she has time to respond, her panties are off, flung away from them, in an equally spry move. Sheldon leaned in to her, her legs spreading to welcome him, his manhood rubbing against her. _Oh, yes, this is a good height._

"Is this enough?" Sheldon whispered.

"Oh, yes."

As Amy threw her head back in pleasure, he started kissing her neck and collarbones, kneading her back with his palms, and the rocking motion sent bursts of electricity through her body.

"Yes."

_Hooooot, this is a great height._

"Yess."

She didn't even kiss him back, she just held onto his arms, rocking with him, feeling the pleasure pulsing ever stronger within her, as the firmest part of his body stroked the softest part of hers.

"Yesssss."

Just when she started to feel the tug in her stomach, the string pulling her body taut before releasing it completely, Sheldon pleaded into her ear, "Please, Amy, please."

Amy reached down to help Sheldon find where he wanted to be, and he filled her with himself, his breath hitching, before he resumed his undulation. She wrapped her legs around him, to bring him deeper, to encourage him to continue the rhythm he was using before. He ran his hand down the back of her thigh and pulled her left leg up higher. That sensation, his palm on her skin, in that place, drove her wild. He resumed his rocking, within her and around her, one hand holding up the back of her knee, the other on the back of her neck, bringing her closer to him and his lips.

Then it came, not surprising her at its swiftness given how close she was not so long ago, and it was one of those rare orgasms that seem to pause and shimmer on the edge of something else, the white-hot lightening bolt deep inside her blazing. She heard the trembling in her cry, forcing her eyes open to look at Sheldon, loving the way he watched her so closely.

No sooner had her own cry died in the air, then he dropped her leg and he wrapped his arms around her. His own head went back, he fingers clutched at the skin of her back, his upper lip quivered, and his eyes squeezed shut. His deep bellow filled her ears. It was one of Amy's favorite sights.

As he came down from his high, she leaved against his shoulder, and he hugged her even tighter. "I love you, Sheldon."

"I love you, too, Amy." He was breathless.

"And I really loved that."

"I thought it seemed like you did."

"I think it was the angle."

He kissed the top of her head, his breath calming. "Then we'll work to recreate it at home."

She pulled back slightly to look at him. "We? You're the physicist. I didn't marry you just for your pretty face, you know."

* * *

**_AN: Again, my blushes!_**


	13. Seven Minutes in Heaven

_**Seven Minutes in Heaven (takes place after **_**The Green Mile**_**)**_

* * *

_"We could play seven minutes in heaven," Amy smirked._

_He turned to her sharply. "No."_

_"Why not?"_

_"The laundry room is a public place. Someone could just walk in and see us."_

_"That didn't stop you from kissing me here once before."_

_Sheldon blushed. "Uh, well, yes. I may have gotten carried away. But it was not seven minutes!"_

* * *

They had just gotten into bed, when Sheldon said to Amy, even before they relaxed back into their pillows, "I've been thinking about what you proposed in the laundry room."

Amy turned to him with a smirk. "And?"

"No, Amy, it's still non-negotiable. However, it occurred to me that perhaps the fascination you have with the laundry room is because of what once happened there."

"And what was that?" She wasn't even trying to appear innocent, with her smirking and her twinkling.

_She drives me wild with her vixen ways!_ "Well, as I'm sure you remember, it was where we first, uh, knew each other in the French fashion."

Amy chuckled. "My, how formal we are tonight!"

"You know what I mean. And thinking about that made me think about, well, the _Kuma Sutra_."

"You have my full attention, Dr. Cooper."

"There's a chapter on kissing in the _Kuma Sutra_, yes?" He asked, moving slowly closer to her.

"Yeeees . . ."

"Because the Indians have all sorts of kisses." He barely touched her lips with his. "For example, the nominal kiss."

Amy smiled.

He kissed her again, more firmly, and moved his lips against hers. "The throbbing kiss."

Amy raised her eyebrows by didn't comment.

Another kiss, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. "The touching kiss."

He brought his hand up behind her neck and bent her back slightly. "The bent kiss."

"Mmmmmm . . ."

His other hand came up to hold her chin and turn her face. "A turned kiss."

The he kissed her with enough force she leaned back further on her own. "A pressed kiss."

"It's odd though, isn't it, that those are the only kisses listed?" He looked straight into Amy's green eyes as she watched him searchingly. "Maybe a French person hadn't made it to India yet."

And he lowered her down further, until she was on her back, exploring her mouth with his tongue, reveling in her kiss. He never got tired of kissing her like this. He loved how her mouth tasted. As illogical as it was, it tasted hot. Yes, hot. And soft. A little briny. And, before bed like this, with a hint of mint toothpaste still on her breath. He hated breaking away from it.

"Even the Eskimos have a special kiss." He rubbed his nose against hers. "But, as homo novus, shouldn't we have our own kiss? Maybe something even better than the kiss in the laundry room?"

Amy's smirk reached all the way to her eyes. "What do you propose, Dr. Cooper?"

"Well, as scientists, I suggest we study the possibilities. For example . . ." He kissed the tip of her nose. "The flag kiss."

"The flag kiss?"

"Shhhh, I'm giving a lecture." She raised her eyebrows again, and his kissed one to tame it. "The arch kiss."

Feathery kisses along her cheekbone. "The crest kiss."

She closed her eyes and smiled. He took advantage to kiss her eyelid. "The emerald kiss."

In the middle of her forehead. "Genius kiss."

On her temple, caressing her hair. "Mud kiss."

"Mud!" She opened her eyes.

"Uh . . . chocolate?"

She nodded. "Carry on."

Along the curvature of her ear. "Seashell kisses."

He took her earlobe in his mouth and flicked it with his tongue. He was rewarded with a moan and the deepening of her breath. "Velvet kiss."

The indentation in her neck, over her carotid artery. "Pulse kiss."

On her delicate Adam's apple. "The Macintosh."

Amy giggled.

"Dr. Fowler, this is a serious scientific instruction." He kissed her there again.

"Yes, yes, I'll be good." She closed her eyes again.

"Pay attention, there will be a test later." Her suprasternal notch, which he lapped with his tongue eliciting another moan. "Thirst."

Along her right collarbone. "Mmmm . . . river kisses."

Amy smiled. She remembered.

Between her breasts. "The valley."

Slowly up the side of her left breast. "The snowcap."

He ran his tongue over her nipple, and she arched off the bed. "The ruby." He did it again. "No, I stand corrected." He repeated his actions for her other nipple. "Rubies. Definitely plural."

Sheldon eyed it first, the perfectly round and very dark freckle under her right breast. He had never found freckles sexy until this one. He kissed it. "The secret."

Down the middle of her stomach almost to her belly button, open mouthed and very sloppy. "The savannah."

He paused. He knew where he wanted to kiss next, but he was a little worried about what Amy would think. He loved this part of her, the cushiony softness, the feminine allure. But he had always thought it was an area women were very sensitive about. Very gently he kissed the pouch of flesh that was her lower stomach. "Perfection."

A kiss on her dark curls made Amy's breath hitch. "Proximate."

Putting his hand between her legs and over her mound, he said, "Now this kiss. That's a lesson for another day." He slid a finger into her dewy folds, and her breath caught again. "Pop quiz time."

"Sheldon." She looked at him, pleasure already washing over her face.

He raised an eyebrow before kissing half-way between her navel and her breasts. He paused, looking up at her.

She swallowed for air. "Savannah."

Her rounded tummy. She didn't respond. He stopped moving his finger. "Say it."

"Perfection. Don't stop!"

Her collarbone.

"Hooot, hoooo, river."

Between her breasts. "Yesssss, right there."

"Right where?"

"Jesus, Sheldon, the valley."

He smiled and kissed her freckle. Her hips had started shifting. "Uhhhhh, mmmmmmm, the secret."

The outside of her ear. "Ohhhh, yesss, the seashell?"

"You don't sound very certain."

"Hoooooooo, certain."

Her earlobe, with long and soft and very wet ardor. "Shelllllldon."

He whispered into to ear, "Say it."

"Velvet, oh yes!"

Her suprasternal notch. "Ohhhhhhhh, God - I - don't - know - the - drink?"

"Incorrect, Dr. Fowler. But, I think, very, very close." Her stomach muscles contracted and her hands clawed for him. And she took her sharp breaths.

"Yessssssssssss, oh, yessssssss!"

He reveled in the sight of her climaxing, a satisfied grin his face. The way her body arched and pulse, her legs stiffened, her neck elongated, even her scent changed: it was one of his favorite sights. She came down, gasping for air.

"I have very strict standards for my pupils, Dr. Fowler. I think we'll have to do that until you receive a perfect score."

He kissed her forehead, starting his attentions again.

"Genius," it came out with Amy's deep breath.

Her throat. "Pulssssse."

Her earlobe agin. "Ohhhhhh, mmmmmmm, velvet!"

Her hardened nipple, wet with his whole mouth, teasing, pulling. "Yessssssss - ruby - rubies!"

Gently into her hair as her hand clenched his arm again. "Sheldonnnnnnnnn!"

Again: always faster, always shorter, always just as bewitching. However, not wanting to kill his wife, he stopped as her lungs truly seemed to be heaving for air. He rested his palm on her stomach and leaned down to give her three bent kisses. She smiled at him, breathing hard.

"I think," he said, "maybe we should retest on a later date."

"Yes," Amy swallowed hard, "because -" she gripped his shoulders and forced him to roll on his back - "it's my turn to teach you a lesson, Dr. Cooper. I seem to recall a chapter on love bites."

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for your reviews!**_


	14. Delirium

_**Delirium (takes place concurrent with **_**The Hobbit**_**)**_

* * *

_"All this seismic activity today? The Geology department thinks it's either an earthquake swarm or even foreshocks. You know, before the big one. The Pres is encouraging everyone to go home and shelter in place," Kripke said._

* * *

They agreed the experiment was success. Amy and her colleague were discussing the results, pleased that it took less time than expected when both of their phoned chimed at the same time.

After reading the email from President Siebert, Dr. O'Brian said, "It's good thing we finished early, then. We'd better leave and discuss this tomorrow. Hopefully. Are you parked far away? Do you need a ride to your car? I'm close."

"No, thank you," Amy answered. "I have to walk over to Downs, to get my husband."

"Are you sure you don't want a ride there?"

"No, it's not that far. It will probably take as long to drive around campus as it will to walk straight there. But thank you."

"Alright. Be safe." Dr. O'Brian left, his large hulking form practically filling the doorway.

Amy took one last lap around the lab, making sure all was in order before taking off her her lap coat and gathering her things. She walked into the hallway and looked both ways. The building really was empty. All of the text alerts from the Geology department about earthquake swarms and foreshocks had frightened everyone away. Just then, the ground rumbled again. _Yes, I definitely need to get Sheldon and go home._ She was surprised he hadn't already called or texted her; surely he was terrified. Although, if he was deep in thought, he might not even notice.

As she had never used this lab before, Amy was uncertain of the most direct route. She debated which way to turn, and decided on turning right. The hallway stopped in a T. Frowning, she turned left as she saw a doorway at the end of the hall. Exiting the door, she realized it was the wrong one. She walked back into the building and went down the opposite direction. The hallway turned but then there was another door. Stepping outside, she thought this was wrong too, but wasn't as sure. She thought the exit she wanted had stairs. This exit had only one step down to the sidewalk. But she walked about slightly, standing next to a bench, and looking back at the building. _This is taking forever! I need to go get Sheldon. _

She took out her phone, planning on texting him, when it happened. The violent shaking startled her and she dropped her phone. On instinct she reached down to pick it up, but then she jerked forward instead. She felt a sharp pain in her temporal lobe as it struck the corner of the bench and then nothing else.

* * *

There was a voice, someone talking, saying he was happy he'd come back to look for her. It was the wrong voice. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right voice.

_Why am I allowing him to buy me a beverage? Why is he offering to buy me a beverage? Normally my well-rehearsed line about coitus being off the table has the man running away by now. Did he just look over at me? Should I look over at him?_

She thought she was being carried. Or maybe she walking and being held upright and pulled by a set of arms at the same time. Whatever it was, it was surreal and difficult and uncomfortable. She thought she might vomit from the motion. It was the wrong set of arms, the wrong set of hands. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right set of hands first.

_I did not think I would feel this different. Why does the act of him putting a simple ring on my finger made me feel so different? I wish my hands would stop shaking, it is making it difficult to put on his ring. He has such lovely hands. They are now my hands, too._

She heard sirens and some sort of blaring announcement. The same voice, the first voice, was talking to her constantly, but she did not understand it. It was the wrong voice. She desperately wanted to sleep, but she needed to find the right voice.

_Did he just use the word vixen? Vixen! What does that mean? Am I vixen? I like being a vixen. I like it when he calls me a vixen. I do not think I would like it if anyone else called me that._

There was some noise, some shuffling. She was being laid down. She was so very, very tired. She still thought she might vomit. It was the wrong mattress. She wanted to sleep, but she could only sleep if the right person was there.

_I know, I remember, he will be there when I open my eyes. He loves me and he will be there. Oh, he is! Even knowing it did not lessen the feeling! He is so sound asleep. Look at those tufts of hair. Look at his eyelashes. I am besotted. And he is besotted with me! I still cannot believe this, even seeing it now, in the morning light, that he is here in my bed._

She heard a new voice, a voice she also knew. Her face felt wet, the hands connected to the voice were washing her face. Everything looked like a dream. She saw red, red on gauze. It was the wrong color. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to see the right color first.

_Did that really just happen? Did he really just kiss me? His eyes, his eyes are so blue. What is that look he is giving me? What does it mean? I will die of happiness from that look. His eyes are so blue. They have never been more blue._

This voice is soothing and familiar, but it is still the wrong voice. She was in a different place, some sort of small room. Like a doctor's office, but not. It was the wrong room. She wanted to sleep, but she needed the right person with her.

_I cannot concentrate. I must concentrate. I must remember every detail of this. It feels like three heartbeats. Yes, that is it. The first is the one I've known my entire life, although it is beating exceptionally fast. The second is the one I've longed for, deep inside of me. It feels full and strange, although it is getting better. The third is completely unexpected, whispering in my ear. It is the most beautiful, soft and sincere. I must remember every word. Why is my cheek wet where it touches his? Am I crying? Or is he crying? I do not care. I want to hold him closer. Now there is only one heartbeat. It is ours._

At last, she heard nothing. She was so very tired. She has never been more tired. No, once, she remembered, she was this tired. It was a different sort of tired. But she wanted to hear the same thing. She could not sleep until she heard it, no matter how very, very tired she was.

_I don't know why I agreed to dance with him. I don't know why I thought I would have the strength. I cannot do this. I cannot continue to break my heart daily, even for him. I thought, for a while, that kisses were enough. They are not. He is quoting _Jane Eyre_. I shouldn't accept it. I want to accept it. I want it to be enough. It is not enough. I need his love. I need him to tell me. I need to hear his voice. I need to hear his voice._

She heard his voice. But it was anguished. It was killing her. She felt his hands, but they were trembling and one was strangely sticky. They were killing her. He was sobbing. She wanted to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him that she was here, that everything would be okay. She could not sleep until he knew.

_I cannot figure out what I am doing wrong. I want to reach out to him, to hold him, to tell him that I am here, that everything will be okay if he will only let me help. But he will not let me. He is closing in on himself. I can't seem to reach him. I don't know what to do. This is killing me._

She forced her eyes open. He was talking now, sounding more like himself, but he was not talking to her. He was talking to . . . someone else she knew. But it was like not the conversations they normally had. He was drinking water. He smelled strongly of sweat. That was not his normal smell. Everything was strange, everything was different, everything was wrong.

"Amy?" It was his voice, it was his heartbeat, they were his hands, they were his blue eyes, any room with him was the right room.

She gathered all her strength, she dug down deep inside herself, she forced the word out, the only word that mattered to her. "Sheldon."

She didn't want to stop looking at him, but her eyes closed without her consent. She was so very tired. All she was wanted to do was sleep. But she could not, not just yet.

"I love you, Amy."

It was all she needed. Everything was strange, but everything would be alright. She feel asleep to the lullaby that was his voice.

* * *

**_AN: Obviously, this was trip down memory lane, both from the show and also from my stories (_The Oxygen Deprivation Exploration_ &amp; _The Exhalation Combustion Investigation_). Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	15. Sacrifices

_**Sacrifices (takes place during T**_**he First Four Years**_**)**_

* * *

_"Amy, what is it?" Sheldon said as Amy shut the bedroom door behind them._

_"I believe, Dr. Cooper, something was mentioned about Book Club in bed." She came up to him and wrapped her arms around him, looking up at him, her green eyes radiating._

_"No, Amy, I know what you're thinking, and it's non-negotiable."_

* * *

In truth, he wanted to put his arms around her, too, but he resisted because, well, it was non-negotiable. "You know that's not what I meant when I said that earlier. We already talked about the book. Most importantly, Leonard and Penny are home."

"Come on, Sheldon, they're watching _Transformers_. They'll never know."

"I'll know." Feeling Amy so close to him, pressing against him, looking up at him with that look, was not helping.

"But don't you agree all the pre-planned intimacy, waiting for only when we know they're going to be out of the house for a least an hour, is cramping our style?"

Sheldon blew out a long breath. No, Amy this close was definitely not helping. "There's no lock on the door."

"They've never once tried to come in here when the door is shut."

"They'll hear us."

"I doubt that given how loud _Transformers_ is. But . . ." Amy let go of him, and his shoulders relaxed. But not the other part. She walked to his laptop, opened the cover and clicked a few times on the tracker. Neil Diamond music filled the room. "This might help."

She stood looking at him. She was wearing her hair more full lately; even though he knew the purpose was to hide the short hairs that were growing back around her head injury, it reminded him of her early morning hair. She had already taken off her cardigan, and she wasn't wearing a blouse, as she had replaced so few of them; she was wearing Penny's pink Sheldon Cooper's Council of Ladies tee shirt, of all things, and he noticed how his name stretched across her bosom. It was, frankly, very erotic. _Drat._ He gave a big sigh, and lifted his own tee shirt over his head.

Amy raised her eyebrows. "So, that's a yes?"

He kicked off his shoes and starting unbuckling his belt. "Two rules. One: you have to be quiet -"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, and you know what I mean. Two: I estimate there is a twenty-five minutes of _Transformers_ remaining, at most, and that includes credits which I doubt they'll watch, so start undressing. Now."

Amy laughed as she lifted the tee shirt over her head.

"No laughing!"

"You said only two rules. And laughing won't give us away." Her skirt dropped.

"I make the rules, I can change the rules. And that kind of laughing will." He was naked now.

She laughed again, but Sheldon leapt to her and silenced her with a kiss. A really, really deep kiss. He pulled way, still holding her face.

"No laughing. And no underwear. Chop chop." He let go so that she could remove the remaining undergarment.

He sat on the bed, and he pulled her down next to him.

"Mmm, I like in control Sheldon Cooper." She laughed again.

"I swear, vixen, don't make me spank you." He reached for her and kissed again, before she could squeal, although he would have loved to hear it. It was a sacrifice. He backed up just long enough to get a breath, and then kissed her once more. His arms wove around her back. And again. He had really missed this, the unplanned eagerness, the way her tongue felt in his mouth, the way it reached for him even as his reached for her. The constant give and take. Amy was right, of course, all this planning was interfering with their physical activities. And there was the other thing, the thing he couldn't help but think about, the thing he called The Project in his mind, but dared never to say to Amy.

"I could kiss you like this all night," he finally whispered.

"Next time they go out we'll make out for hours. I thought tonight we had a time limit," Amy smirked.

"You are correct, Dr. Fowler, as usual." Then he ran a hand down her stomach and even lower. He would have liked to have taken his time, but, again, sacrifices.

He pulled her closer as her breathing came faster and kissed her as long as he could. Then she pulled her lips away and buried her head on his shoulder, her hips starting to thrust to meet his hand.

"Sheldon," she moaned. "Stop. I can't. I don't think I can be quiet."

He stopped moving his hand and looked down at her. Her face, normally so beautiful with abandonment, was etched in concentration. _No, this is not a sacrifice I'm willing to make._

"Please, let it come, whatever you need to do," he whispered in her ear. He put his other hand on the back on her head, and pulled her in even closer. He started moving his fingers again, drawing her pleasure out of her, and she bite down lightly on his shoulder, just like one of her little love bites. Then it wasn't so light at all, and her fingernails dug painfully into his arms but she didn't cry out as loud as normal. Just a very deep, throaty moan, something animalistic pulsing down from his shoulder. It was a wonderful sensation.

They relaxed against each other. He kissed her forehead and ran his hands through her hair. "Good?"

"Yes," she murmured. "Did I hurt you?"

He shrugged. "A bruise is a small sacrifice."

Then he rolled her on her back and used his knees to spread her legs further apart and found his way into her. _Yes, I really, really missed this. Not planning is so much better_. He moved quickly, quicker than normal, and put more effort into each movement. He rested his cheek against hers so that he could hear her staccato, almost hiccup-like breaths, one for each thrust. _This is really, really good. I love that sound. _At the end, he gritted his teeth so his own moan would be quieter. Which, it crossed his rattled mind, was a shame because he really, really wanted to scream her name so she would know how much he had missed this. Another sacrifice.

He collapsed next to her. As usual, she curled up against him. "Thank you, Sheldon."

"Actually, I should thank you. That was . . ."

"Yes, it was."

* * *

Penny cuddled up closer to Leonard, relaxing her head on his shoulder, only half watching the end of the movie, her eyelids heavy. Unexpectedly, he paused it.

"What?" she asked, perking up.

"Do you hear that?"

She listened. "Is that music? Oh, God, are they starting dance night here? And we already have to listen to that horrible harp app!"

"No, I thought -"

And then they both heard it. A faint but very distinctive _squeak, squeak_ of the guest bed. Penny grabbed the remote and quickly pressed play, and then collapsed laughing into Leonard's shoulder.

"I did not need to hear that," Leonard said. "Ever."

"Then why did you pause the movie?" Penny asked between her giggles.

"I couldn't tell what it was. I heard something else first - Oh, no! I just realized what it was!" Leonard groaned and put his hands over his face. "I think it was Amy."

Penny laughed harder. "Good for her!"

"Shhh," Leonard said, "don't laugh, they'll hear us."

"Oh, honey, I don't think they're paying any attention to us." Her laughter quieted. "I guess it's only fair."

"Fair? Oh, you mean for all the times Sheldon complained about hearing us?"

"No." She snuggled up closer to her husband's naked body. "I mean, we have _Transformers_, they have music."

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews! _**


	16. Fears

**Fears**_** (takes place after**_** T****he First Four Years**_**)**_

* * *

_"Oh, Sheldon!" she attacked him then, jumping on the bed, pulling him in so tightly it made it even harder to breathe. "I'm pregnant! I can't believe it happened so soon. I'm so happy."_

* * *

It had been a glorious, if surprising, day. Amy felt like her feet had never touched the ground. She had almost everything she had ever wanted. True, she didn't have a home, per se, but she had a roof over her head. And Sheldon. And now Sheldon's baby. Baby. She found herself rolling the word around in her head. This was really happening.

Poor, sweet Sheldon. He had been so shocked this morning, she knew. Honestly, she was in shock herself. She let him have his shock. She had expected it; she would have been concerned if he had done something so out of character as to jump up and down with glee. Then there was work, and, although each text from Sheldon ended with "Are you well?," nothing else out of the ordinary was said or happened. After work, they went to their appointment with the developer of yet another condominium complex, which took hours, as usual, because Sheldon had a list of over one hundred questions.

Quickly, it was bedtime again, and Amy crawled in next to him. "I was thinking, Sheldon, that we have found the best place to live. It had everything we wanted: a great room, a kitchen island, and we can use the sunroom as a sort of office for our computers. And there's a washer dryer hook-up! Heaven is doing laundry whenever we want. What did you think?"

"If you liked it, it's fine."

_Hmmmm._ "I know you prefer to think about these things for a while, but I don't think we should wait. Not only are places going quickly, but we're in a bit of a time crunch now."

"Yes, you're right. We'll call tomorrow."

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"I think we should talk about the . . . baby." _I just said it! Aloud!_ _This is really happening!_

"Yes, you're right."

"First, I think we need to decide when to tell people, now or wait until after the first trimester. With our friends, we either had to tell everyone or no one. Maybe our mothers are different."

"Whatever you think is best."

Amy heart had gradually sped up. She had expected initial paralysis from Sheldon, even if they had planned this; it was a huge life change for him, for them, and he would need a few hours to adjust. But this, this! Sheldon was never irresolute about anything, and it worried her.

"Sheldon, are you . . . are you unhappy?" She heard her voice almost break. _Please, Sheldon, don't regret this, please._

He turned toward her then, and he brought his hand up to her cheek. "I'm not unhappy."

"But are you happy?"

He dropped his hand, and it felt like her heart dropped like a stone along with it. "I don't know. I'm overwhelmed. I'm frightened."

The vulnerability in his voice was so palpable, Amy softened. "I'm sorry. We should have waited. I don't what we were thinking, starting to try this even before we had a home of our own. It's too much stress."

"Yes, that's part of it. But please don't apologize. I . . . I wanted it, too."

Now it was Amy's turn to touch his face. "Sheldon, please tell me. Tell me what is worrying you."

"Lots of things."

"Tell me all of them."

"All of them? I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please." Amy took his hand and kissed it. "Here." Then she turned off the bedside lamp. Darkness fell in the room. Sheldon always talked more in the dark.

He took a deep breath. "Are you sure? I don't want to upset you."

"I'm sure."

Another deep breath. "Okay. Yes, I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes. I'm worried about you, physically. You could - there could be a miscarriage. I'm worried about the money. We have all the insurance money, of course, but with the housing shortage and prices and then a baby. Honestly, I'm worried about your mother; what if she wants to come around all the time now?" (This worry made Amy worry, too; she hadn't thought of it.) "I'm terrified of . . . childbirth. It was awful when my nephew was born. I had nightmares. I'm worried I don't know anything, anything, about babies other than they are loud and messy and full of germs. Diapers! I'm worried you'll love the baby more than me. I'm worried I'll drop the baby. I'm worried you'll spend eighteen years angry at me because I'm not doing anything correctly. I'm worried that we made love last night and you were pregnant, even though I know I shouldn't be because I've read _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ twice now." (This worry caused Amy to raise her eyebrows.) "That makes we worry about why I worry about something when I know there is absolutely no scientific basis for me to worry. I'm worried the baby will be a boy and want to play sports. I'm worried the baby will be a girl and want to play with princesses all the time. I'm worried the baby will turn out like one of my siblings, with a below average IQ. I'm worried the baby will grow up to a be a hippy and refuse to go to college." (This worry made Amy smile.) "I'm worried the baby won't be anything like you, and that makes me sad. I'm worried I'll die when the baby is fourteen. I'm worried the baby won't like superheroes and _Star Wars_ and math. And . . . never mind."

"What, Sheldon, what?"

"It's something Kirpke said today."

"What?" Amy had not expected that name to come up. "Did you tell Kripke I was pregnant?"

"No, of course not." He sighed softly. "We working together on an equation. And he asked me if I would consider doing a favor for him. He met a new faculty member in the mathematics department last week, and this person is have trouble adjusting, he said. He asked if I would be willing to meet him and talk to him, help him adjust to academia."

"Okay, well, I think it's nice that Kripke thinks you would be the person to do that, but I don't understand what this has to do with our baby."

Sheldon didn't answer right way. She waited, as she had long ago learned to do. Finally, he said, his voice barely audible, "Kripke said, 'I thought you could help him adjust because you're both on the spectrum.'"

Amy took a sharp breath. "What? But I thought you two were friends, sort of, now. Why would someone just assume that about someone else! I should-"

"I'm not mad, Amy," Sheldon interrupted. "Really. Barry wasn't trying to be mean, I don't think. That's not it. I've . . . it's been said before. It's what the specialist in Houston was for. Mom thinks I don't know, but I do. And do you remember that movie _Rain Man_? I was eight when it came out. I was still in public school." He paused again, and Amy filled in the rest of the details with her mind. Her heart broke for him. "But today, when he said it . . ." his voice dropped to a whisper again ". . . it can be genetic, you know."

Amy pulled him into her, squeezing him tight. "Oh, Sheldon."

"I worry," he whispered. "I'm worried about that. I worry about why I didn't think of it before."

"Sheldon." Amy grabbed grab both sides of his face. She wished she had not turned the light off, now, so that he would see her eyes, would know how much she meant what she was saying."We are both very intelligent people. We both know we are . . . I prefer to think better, but the word different has been used. Maybe if we were born today, someone would eagerly slap a label on us. We both display -"

She stopped. Her first instinct had been to react with facts and figures. However, as she was speaking, she remembered that often what Sheldon said he wanted to hear was not always what he needed to hear. "Please listen very carefully to what I'm about to say. There are many labels for you. Brilliant. Imaginative. Precise. Tall. Handsome. But do you know what labels matter to me? Husband. Father of my child. Loved. And do you know what labels I want applied to this baby? Ours. And loved. That's it."

"What if that's not enough?"

"Well, physically, of course, it's not. One cannot live on love alone. But, metaphysically, it's enough. Think about how much your mother loves you; even when she drives you crazy talking about religion, you know how loved you are. And even though I know it was difficult for her, and she has never been good hiding that I am a permanent reminder of a mistake she cannot unmake, I know my mother loved me the best she possibly could. And we both turned out okay."

"As you just pointed out, we are better than okay."

Amy smiled. "Yes, we are. Now let's talk about the rest of your concerns. You remember them all, of course?"

"Of course." He paused, and Amy looked at him expectantly, even though he maybe couldn't see that in the dim room. He swallowed. "I'm worried about if we'll have somewhere to live before the baby comes."

"It's a semi-valid concern. All we can do is hope for the best. And we're not homeless; Penny and Leonard will let us stay here as long as we need to."

"But I miss our own home. Being alone with you."

Amy's heart pittered-pattered and she smiled at him. "Me too. Next?"

"I'm worried about you physically."

"I'll take the best possible care of myself. I promise. I'm sure you'll help me. That's all we can do."

"I don't like that the answers to all of my concerns include the phrase 'all we can do.'"

Amy shrugged. "Go on."

Sheldon sighed at her non-answer. "I'm worried about the money."

"Please, Sheldon, if the Titanic was as water-tight as our budgeting skills it would not have sunk. We have always lived within our means. That is not a valid concern."

"Okay, maybe you're right about that. Next - oh," he looked down, "your mother. Sorry."

"Don't be. I don't think she will be a concern. She loathes children." Amy paused, feeling a little guilty for talking about her mother like this. Even though they had never been close, her mother had offered that she and Sheldon could go live with her. They begged off, referencing the commute time, which, while true, was not the whole truth. "I could be wrong, but I doubt it. Next."

"Childbirth. Nightmares."

"I'll think about it. Childbirth, I mean. Some sort of plan to help you, to take pressure from you. The nightmares, well, I have some experience with those." Sheldon squeezed her hand. She did not need to tell him what he already knew. She had not had any night terrors since she had Sheldon in her bed, until after the earthquake; then they had started again, two solid weeks of terrible nights. But they were lessening again. Actually, she hadn't had one all month, she realized.

"Babies. Diapers. Germs. Dropping it. I'll do everything wrong."

"We'll take a class. We'll put hand sanitizer in every room. You won't drop it." She remembered what he said the first time, the rest of the sentence that he had left out here. "And I won't spend eighteen years hating you. I won't spend eighteen minutes hating you. Never." It was her turn to squeeze his hand. She said, "Better? Do we need to go on?"

"Yes. No. Not unless you want to."

"The rest of your concerns about who the baby would turn out to be, correct?"

"Yes."

"It will be who it will be. Maybe he'll be just as tall and brilliant as you. Maybe she'll turn out to be a boy-crazed cheerleader -" she felt Sheldon shudder beside her. "I don't want that, I'm just saying that genetics are a gamble. Whoever he or she is, I'm sure we'll love it regardless. All we can do is take it one day at a time and cross each bridge as we come to it."

"Why do I get the feeling having a baby will involve a lot clichés?" Sheldon sighed softly.

"Just wait until my pregnancy brain kicks in. Who knows what I'll say."

"How can you be so calm about this? You don't seem worried at all."

"You're wrong. I'm terrified. I have many of the same worries as you. I also have worries about myself, how I'm going to handle all the changes to my body. I suspect your fears of labor do not compare to mine. But I know there is nothing to be gained by worrying too much. And I have faith."

"Faith?" Sheldon started. "Like religion?"

"No, not religious. Just a strong sense that it will all turn out okay." She paused and took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you something. Let me finish before you interrupt, okay?"

Sheldon nodded.

"I always knew it was going to be a long road with you, but I also always knew we were in it together. I had faith in you, I had faith in us. I'm not doing a good job of explaining this, I think, but my point is we've always been in this together, and we'll continue to be in this, whatever this is, whatever it brings us, together."

Silence filled the room. Amy was certain he probably thought that was the most ridiculous, hippy-dippy thing she could say.

Sheldon leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You always say exactly the right thing."

Then, in a role reversal, he curled up next to her and put his head on her chest. She stroked his hair.

"Then I have faith in us, too. I still don't think I'm ready, I thought we'd have more time, but I'm getting used the idea," he said whispered into her nightgown.

"I think not feeling ready is a sign you are ready. I don't feel ready, either. Remember when we first met, and we were both so eager to have a test tube baby for the sake of science, we were absolutely certain?"

"Yes."

"Those two kids were so naïve and overconfident, don't you think? They would have been horrible parents."

She felt Sheldon grin, the way his face moved on her chest. "I wish I could go back in time and tell them how wonderful it is to make a baby the old-fashioned way."

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews. I know I've completely broken with any semblance of the status quo, but, hey, isn't life about the journey?_**


	17. Being There

**Being There (takes place after _A Farewell to Arms_)**

* * *

_She sighed. "I thought, at least when I stopped the book, that they were too wrapped up in themselves, too lost in their own exclusive world. Like they were obsessed with each other, never spending a second apart. Oh, it's stupid. Maybe it was just that they are snowed in that tiny house with the small room. Ignore me."_

* * *

There was a soft knock at the door. "Amy?"

"Come in," Amy yelled and sat up in bed.

Penny entered the room in her pajamas and came over to the bed. "How are you feeling, sweetie? Did I wake you?"

"No, I was awake. Actually, I'm feeling much better."

Penny sat down on the edge of the bed. "Good. Do you want to try to eat something else? Sheldon isn't here, you can have whatever you want. We've got ginger ale with high fructose corn syrup and microwave popcorn with whatever is horrible about that. Ice cream, potato chips, pickles, you name it."

Amy smiled at her best friend. "No, thank you. You've really been so kind. Both you and Leonard. I'm sorry for this is happening in your house. We should have waited. We thought we had more time; most couples of our age take an average of three to six months to conceive. And I just stopped the pill and my periods were always so irregular before and I'm thirty-six . . . I should have known even Sheldon's sperm would be above average, and it would happen the first month."

Penny screwed up her face. "Great. And I was just starting to accept the creepy idea that Sheldon Cooper has sex in my guest bed. Now I'll have to think about that, too."

Amy ignored her comment. "Penny, do you think I'm a horrible wife?"

"What? No. I think Mother Theresa has nothing on you. Why?"

"I made Sheldon leave and go to the comic book store with Leonard tonight."

"Yeah, so?"

"It's just that he's been so attentive and caring and mostly calm, and I wonder if I shouldn't have sent him away. Five years ago I would have sold a kidney for this much attention from him." She paused and sighed. "I feel guilty, but I can't help feeling a little . . . smothered. I basically told him that he was obsessing over me. What is wrong with me?" She put her face down into her hands.

"Sweetie, don't feel bad about that. Obsessive compulsive is sort of Sheldon's shtick. Especially when he really, really loves something."

Amy put her hands down. "He really is into me, isn't he?"

Penny smiled at her. "You have no idea. Hey, how about this? The guys are out, we have the house to ourselves, and this is my last week before I start filming. Why don't you put on your PJs, and we'll watch _Sex in the City_ in my bed?"

"Okay."

"Great! I'll meet you in there. I'm going to get some wine. Do you want anything?" Penny got off the bed.

"I'll take some of that ginger ale, if you don't mind." Amy got up, too.

"Sure thing."

Amy changed into her nightgown and went to Penny's bedroom. She took the _Transformers_ BluRay out and put in _Sex in the City_ instead. She had just got up onto the bed when Penny returned, her hands full.

"Oh, good, you've got it ready. One ginger ale for you." Penny climbed in bed next to her, handing her the cold can.

"Penny, can I ask you something? A really big favor?" It was something Amy had thought about for awhile now.

"Sure, what?" Penny asked, taking a handful of popcorn out the bag she had made.

"Will you be my back-up? When I have the baby? In case Sheldon can't do it, can't be in the room. Will you come in with me?"

"Oh, Ames. Of course I will. But he'll be there."

"I'm not sure. The sight of blood makes him pass out. And he had nightmares after his sister had the baby, and he wasn't even in the room the whole time. I need a back-up. You can be my back-up, and Leonard can hang out with Sheldon, giving him fresh paper bags to breathe into."

Penny smiled. "Yes, we will be your back-ups. But you won't need us. Trust me, he'll be there."

"How can you be so certain?"

Penny shrugged. "Because you'll be there. Obsessive compulsive is his thing, remember?"

Amy settled back into the mountain of pillows on Penny's giant bed with a contented sigh. She pressed the play button on the remote.

Just as Carrie's dress was getting splashed by the bus on the screen, Penny said, "This whole conversation reminds me that I owe Raj ten dollars."

* * *

Sheldon and Leonard where met by an empty living room when they opened the front door.

"Where are they?" Leonard asked.

"They're watching _Sex and the City_ in your bed again." Leonard looked at him with confusion, and Sheldon added, "Vulcan hearing."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "Guess we were gone a long time. And they do love that show_._"

"That show frightens and confuses me," Sheldon replied.

"Let's go say hi." Leonard led the way to his bedroom. He stopped in the doorway. The television was still running, but both Penny and Amy were asleep.

Sheldon stood behind him. "Is that processed ginger ale? And microwave popcorn!"

"Shhhhh, they're asleep."

"I should wake Penny up and give her a piece of my mind. Giving a pregnant woman carcinogens!"

"Calm down, Sheldon. But should we wake them up, do you think?"

"We can wake up Penny so I can give her a strike, but Amy needs her sleep. She is with child, you know."

"Uh, yeah, you may have mentioned it a million times." Leonard tipped toed into the room and turned the television off before unfolding the blanket from the end of the bed and covering the two women.

Sheldon stood in the doorway and looked at his sleeping wife. Leonard came up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. He tensed slightly at the touch but didn't shift away.

"Leonard, I'm worried I won't be able to be there," he whispered even more quietly than they had been. He didn't take his eyes off of Amy.

"Where?"

"In the room when Amy has the baby. I might pass out. Or something." He didn't tell Leonard about the nightmares.

"Well, will Amy be there?"

"What do you mean, will Amy be there? Of course she'll be there. Where else would she be? Unfortunately, this isn't like that episode of _Voyager_, where they beam the baby out." He looked down at his friend in confusion.

"Don't worry. If Amy is there, you'll be there, too."

Sheldon gave his friend an incredulous stare. "How can you be so confident?"

Leonard shrugged. "Because where ever Amy is, Sheldon is sure to follow."

* * *

_**AN: Sorry it's so short (but you were warned). Thank you for your reviews! I love reading them all.**_


	18. Babymoon

**Babymoon (takes place before and during _The Secret Garden_)**

* * *

_"Because, Dr. Cooper, salted caramel is not as common and may take longer to find. Come on, hurry up, let's get hot and bothered." She wiggled her eyebrows, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the bedroom._

* * *

It all started after the last Book Club; that was the last time Amy was sick.

Amy was aware of the phenomenon, of course. It was based on biological facts. Hormonal fluctuations could cause an increased sex drive in the second trimester. Increased blood flow to the pelvis, engorgement of the genitals, increased vaginal discharge: they all could lead to heightened sensations and sexual pleasure during pregnancy. But it was the last thing on her mind during the last half of her first trimester, when all she wanted to do was sleep. Or keep her food down. Sex was the last thing she wanted to think about. She felt disgusting, exhausted, and sick. Poor Sheldon, once that started he never once asked her for it. They were so rarely alone that she just cherished talking to him at those times she didn't feel like she could fall asleep or throw up. There were so many other things to talk about.

Then, blessedly, the gray curtain lifted from her. She felt amazing. Her energy was back, food tasted delicious again, she actually felt . . . well, almost pretty. After a few days, Sheldon noticed, too, and asked her about it. She smiled at him and told him the truth, that she finally felt like her body was a temple. She thought he would roll his eyes, but instead he smiled back with so much happiness it almost hurt. She felt like she was glowing.

She couldn't decide if he was actually watching her more that evening or if he had been watching her so closely the entire pregnancy, and she had been too fatigued to notice. It didn't matter, there was so much love in his eyes she just wanted to bask in it. But when he so intently watched her undress, she knew it was different. When she climbed into bed next to him, he put his hand over her stomach. She wondered how long he had noticed; even she wasn't sure if she imagining it at times. But her skirts were definitely getting tighter. Bursting with pride and love at this physical manifestation of their success, she smiled at him again. She was surprised to find she really, desperately wanted to make love to him. However, he had already put on his pajamas, and she knew he would never consent with Leonard and Penny at home, so she didn't even try.

She had a crazy sex dream that night, so vivid, and she awoke with a start. She didn't just want him, her body demanded him. Fortunately, Sheldon's libido was almost as large as his brain, and, _yes, yes!,_ it took almost nothing to convince him when he was awake. It was like nothing she had ever experienced. She was dying for his touch and she couldn't believe it was happening so fast and in this position, too! . . . She held onto him with all her might, never wanting these sensations to leave her. It came in a wave so strong it was like being pulled down into a riptide. She tried to curl into his shoulder but she couldn't be quiet, she had no control over herself. Suddenly, he stopped.

"Amy, are you okay? Am I hurting you?"

She was certain she would die if he didn't start moving again. "Sheldon, don't you dare stop! It's amazing!"

Everything was pulsing again and _was it ever this good?_ and the riptide came once more and she didn't care who heard and she wanted everyone to know how amazing this was!

It only got better for the next few weeks; her body was certainly changing now, and she never felt more feminine. She felt so blessed to be a woman, to have been entrusted with this most important task, to have Sheldon give her this wonderful gift, to have Sheldon's baby growing inside of her. She felt how lovingly he looked at her body, and, for the first time in her life, she genuinely felt beautiful. All of this beauty and love and power swirled around her, and all she wanted was for Sheldon to touch her, to share it with her.

Fortunately, Sheldon seemed to sense this change in her, and he also could not resist being with her. It was like those first few heady weeks when she felt parched without his touch, without his body wrapped up in her, not knowing where he stopped and she began. She wondered what Sheldon was thinking, but she knew that he was probably not thinking at all, she could see it in his face, how he had given himself over to this. And, quite honestly, she was too busy riding the riptides out to sea.

Pleasure from his hands. Pleasure from his mouth. Pleasure from his breath on her ear. Pleasure from his . . . Pleasure from every part of her he touched. She was almost afraid his very look would pleasure her in the middle of a crowded room.

She tried so hard, for him, to curl into his shoulder and deepen her cries into moans. But she was amazed to find he seemed not to care anymore. She was a goddess, she was a diva, she was a siren.

One day, somewhere in the middle of this babymoon (technically, it was the wrong definition, she knew, but it sounded so right), she decided to discuss it at girls night.

"Bernadette, when you were pregnant, did you find your libido exponentially increased during your second trimester?" she asked.

"Hmmm," Bernadette thought. "Yeah, there was a week or two there I remember being in the mood more than usual. I don't know if I'd use the word exponential, though."

"Did Howard appreciate this change?"

"He's a man, isn't he?" Penny asked.

They all shared a smile.

Amy asked another question. "What about your orgasms? Did they seem better, stronger?"

Bernadette looked alarmed. "Well, that's a personal question. But, okay, I guess we've already crossed that bridge. I don't remember that, so, no, I don't think so. I wasn't sick nearly as bad as you were, we'd been having sex all along. Maybe you just forgot."

"No, I definitely didn't forget. I would have remembered these. Also, I find I am able to achieve orgasm more easily and have more at a time. Last night, for example, I believe I had four in a row. At least three, it always gets a little muddled near the end."

For once, Bernadette noticed that Penny didn't choke on her wine at Amy's over sharing. "Amy, I'm sorry, but I just don't think so. Just because it's biologically possible doesn't mean it actually happens on a regular basis. Not without using a . . . well, you know. Right, Penny? I mean, four orgasms in a row?"

"Oh, I'm sure Amy's telling the truth," Penny said. "Trust me."

* * *

Sheldon first learned of the phenomenon in the hours he spent doing research on pregnancy and the father's role in said experience while Amy slept. Poor Amy, she slept a lot those first few weeks. And she was sick, not every day, but too much. He thought it sounded like anecdotal pseudo-science poppycock, and he wanted to ask Amy about it. However, he didn't want to wake her up, and he certainly didn't want to ask her about it while she was vomiting. Obviously, he was not going to bring it up in front of Leonard or Penny. Their non-sleeping, non-vomiting, both-together-alone-in-the-same-room times were so precious they became filled with other, more important topics, and it never came up. Not that he believed it, anyway.

Then something happened. One week, she wasn't sick at all. The same week, he noticed she slept less. And her skin, what was it about her skin? Was she actually glowing? He asked Amy how she felt, and she smiled, truly smiled, and she said she had never felt better. She said she finally felt like her body was a temple. He dismissed that as another example of her overly sentimental nature, but he smiled back at her because her happiness was so great it almost hurt.

He couldn't stop looking at her all evening, across the table at dinner, next to him on the sofa while they watched a movie. She was magnificent. That night, he scrambled into bed before her, just to watch her undress, waiting to see the new change he had just noticed that week. It wasn't much, and once she was dressed it wasn't noticeable, but it was there. When she joined him, he put his hand over this new wondrous evidence of their success, and Amy smiled at him again. In the midst of all his pride and love, he was surprised to find he really, desperately wanted to make love to her. However, Penny and Leonard were home and he wasn't sure if Amy would be willing, so he didn't broach the topic.

She woke him in the middle of the night, and, even in the midst of his initial confusion, something inside of him cried out, and, _yes, yes!_, Amy wanted him, too. It reminded him, oddly, of the first time. He was so starved for her and she felt even better than he remembered (_how long has it been?_) and he couldn't think straight and he tried so hard to slow down and . . . Despite all that, she clung to him like he was a god and she cried out, so long and hard he was actually frightened. Enough to penetrate the fog and make him stop.

"Amy, are you okay? Am I hurting you?" He was certain his heart had stopped beating.

"Sheldon, don't you dare stop! It's amazing!"

His heart ran away from his chest and _was it always this good?_ and she cried out again and he didn't care if they woke the whole neighborhood and _this is amazing!_

It only got worse for the next few weeks; her body kept changing before his eyes, and he couldn't stop thinking about it. He had always thought Amy was beautiful, but he had never wanted or needed to explain it or quantify it. He loved her beautiful mind, ergo she was beautiful. But now he knew he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life. As precious as she had been to him, now she was somehow more precious. She was literally pouring herself into this gift she was giving him, undertaking this most important task for him, and all he wanted to do was touch her, to share it with her.

Fortunately, a change had come over Amy, too, and she wanted to be touched all the time. It was like that those first few heady weeks when he couldn't even work for thinking about getting her home and losing himself in her. He thought, again, about asking Amy about it, but, and this was completely illogical, he didn't care. And, quite honestly, he was too busy ravishing her.

Middle of the night sex. Early morning sex. Alone in the house sex. Guest bed sex. Guest room floor sex. Quick-get-a-blanket-for-the-sofa sex. Leonard-and-Penny-went-for-ice-cream sex.

He gave up trying to keep her quiet. He was amazed to find he could do no wrong. She had orgasms like ones he always thought were made up for movies. He was virile, he was potent, he was a stud.

One day, somewhere in the middle of this babymoon (Amy used this word, he had never heard it before, he thought it was strange but appropriate), he noticed a sudden silence fall over the table in the cafeteria when he joined his friends for lunch. It was the type of silence that he believed meant they were talking about him, but he was never certain.

"Sheldon, how is Amy?" Raj asked after what Sheldon perceived as a slightly longer than normal pause.

"Quite well, thank you. We had a doctor's appointment yesterday and everything is progressing as it should. Even Amy's uterus is an exemplary specimen of human biology."

"Sooo, no pregnancy side effects?" Howard asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Leonard's stupid grin confirmed his suspicions. Well, he would not discuss this, and they all knew it. "Both the nausea and the fatigue have subsided. She reports that she feels excellent."

"I bet she does," Howard muttered under his breath. Sheldon ignored it.

"You know, Sheldon, I heard somewhere once that pregnant women can go through a horny phase," Raj said. Leonard and Howard snickered.

Sheldon put his fork down with clang, looking around at all his friends, acting like teenage boys. He was appalled that they would discuss Amy like that. He was also, unexpectedly, extremely proud of himself.

"Fine. If you must know, Amy's libido has increased exponentially. I find this knowledge, coupled with the allure of her pregnant body, highly arousing. We are enjoying frequent coitus, and, when we do, the increased blood flow to her genitals allows me to bring her to orgasm multiple times." Sheldon clamped his mouth shut, mortified. _I should not have said that. What came over me?_ However, the looks on Howard and Raj's faces were worth it.

"Ughh," they said in unison, pushing their trays away from them. Leonard continued to eat.

"Really, dude, how can you eat after that?" Raj asked him.

"Well, you asked, so it's your own fault. And," Leonard took another bite, "that's the G-rated version. Trust me."

* * *

And so, that night, when Leonard and Penny went to get ice cream, Sheldon found himself propped up on one arm to avoid putting too much pressure on Amy's blossoming stomach. Normally he would have disliked being further away from her, but he had to admit that given their limited time frame the extra space made it easier for him to stimulate her and bring her to climax. Not that it took much lately.

Although it was very difficult to think at a time like this, two thoughts came to him. One: That this night was probably the last hurrah of the babymoon, the frenzied feverish need. It had been dwindling for a couple of weeks now. He would miss it. Two: It was getting more difficult to make love this way, and he wasn't sure how much longer they would be able to do it. He would miss it, looking down on her, her hair spilled over the bed, her body arching up toward him -

Then she rose to her zenith beneath him, and he watched her and loved her, unable to contain his own. Together they were harmony, together they were motion, together they were a crescendo.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you for your reviews!_**


	19. Anatomical Appreciation

**Anatomical Appreciation (takes place after _Brave New World_)**

* * *

_ "Should we pack up and go back hom - to Leonard and Penny's?"_

_"There is one other tradition to celebrate a new home, you know," she smirked and winked at him._

* * *

"I'm not sure this a good idea, Amy," Sheldon said, watching the numerous jets of water spraying in the glass enclosed shower. "We don't have the best track record in the shower."

"Dr. Cooper, you underestimate me," Amy said with a smirk, enjoying the sight of Sheldon's naked backside. "Why do you think I insisted on the master bathroom upgrade, complete with walk-in shower including a built-in bench?"

"Because you're as dedicated to personal hygiene as I am?" Sheldon asked, turning around to look at her.

She laughed. "Okay, maybe that too. Come on, let's give it a whirl."

Taking Sheldon's hand, she opened the shower door and stepped into the streams of shooting water. "Oh, Sheldon, this is amazing!"

"Wow, that's a lot of pressure," he said, coming in behind her.

"Good, I like it that way," Amy said as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

"Pun intended?" Sheldon asked.

"No. Not even a pun. I like a lot water pressure in the shower."

"Me too." She opened her eyes to see Sheldon watching her very closely, his hair wet and plastered against his head. "Amy, are you sure? You might slip and fall, which could be detrimental in your present condition . . ."

She leaned closer to him, as close as she could given her present condition, and ran her hand through his hair so that it spiked up. _I do so love bad boy Sheldon. Even sexier than worry wart Sheldon._ "You'll just have to hold on to me very tightly." She stood on her tip toes to kiss him.

"I promise I'll never let go," he answered in a husky whisper.

Amy pushed him against the back wall and pulled his face down to hers. True to his promise, Sheldon wrapped his arms as tightly as he could around her. It was utterly delicious, making out with her handsome husband, running her hands over his wet chest, the force of the water massaging their bodies. They would break for air, Amy running her hand through her own hair to push it back, Sheldon shaking his head, before diving in again. _Breathing is over-rated._

"Amy?" Sheldon finally asked, his voice and his eyes full of desire.

"I think you should sit," she answered.

He nodded and, still holding her hand, sat on the tiled bench. She saw one of her favorite things, the look that passed over his face when he got a new idea. He didn't share it, though, which meant he didn't think it was sexy. (Twenty-seven hours later: "I wonder if anyone makes laminated comic books. Then I could read them sitting in the shower.") She smiled at him and moved to straddle him, before pausing.

"Um, scoot out a little. That angle is too sharp. I'm not as thin as I once was," she instructed.

Sheldon obliged and leaned back against the wall once more. He took what used to be her waist, and, helping her lower herself down and around him, took a sharp breath.

"Good?" Amy asked, wondering, not of the first time, if she weighed too much for this anymore.

"Very good," Sheldon said. "And you?"

"Good." She tried an experimental shift forward and back, as it was not the same angle she was used to straddling him in bed, and the tiles were harder against her knees than the soft mattress. "Is that enough?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, leaning in for a deep kiss, breaking it slowly, sucking on her lower lip as they parted. Amy had managed a few more shifts, and Sheldon lowered his hands to her posterior to help her find a rhythm, the slow, dreamy one she knew he preferred.

She leaned her head back as some of her hair had fallen forward, and she wanted the power of the water to smooth it away again. She left her neck back as Sheldon started a slow and sensual progression of kisses down to her collarbones.

"Mmmmm, Sheldon." Then his tongue made contact with one of her nipples, and she jerked. "Ohhhhh, Sheldon."

She wasn't quite sure what she had deserve the wonderful things Sheldon was doing to her breasts, but she wasn't going to ask. Her back arched over and over again, the tugging and kissing and sucking and licking a never ending stream of pleasure. He would love one for awhile, and then leave it to love the other before the other. After what felt like years, Sheldon leaned back to take a breath. Amy took the opportunity to lean closer to him.

"I have to say, Amy, your breasts are very impressive these days."

She giggled and replied, "And all this time I thought you were a butt man."

Sheldon squeezed her bottom, which he had not let go of all along, and started moving her faster. She put her arms on his shoulders to comply with his wishes, and did what she could to speed up as well.

"You're wrong," he whispered in her ear, "I've always been an Amy man."

If Amy had been honest, up until that moment, other than her breasts, the rest of her was thinking that shower sex was over-rated. She was in an awkward position, compounded by pregnancy, no doubt, and the jets of water, which would be delightful for actual cleaning, were a becoming a bit too much. But, in that second, with those words, Sheldon had elevated the experience. She held on tightly to him, as he held on tightly to her, and they worked together until she felt his fingers curl on her posterior and she let herself go with him.

She leaned back again to catch her breath. It had not been the riptide pulling her down that so many orgasms during her pregnancy had been, but she wasn't disappointed in the least. She smiled at Sheldon, and he gave her his goofy grin back. "Help me up."

He nodded and held on to her, just as he had promised, until she was sitting beside him. She leaned against his shoulder.

"That was definitely better than last time we were in the shower," he said.

Amy chuckled.

"It wasn't funny!" he protested.

"No, not then. But it's kind of funny now."

She felt Sheldon shake his head slightly beside her before he asked, "Do you mind if I turn the water off?"

"Please do."

With the jets and showered turned off, a stillness settled over the bathroom. Amy leaned in even closer to Sheldon, who rested his hand on her knee.

"Amy?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Did you enjoy that?"

She lifted her head slightly. "Yeeesss."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I thought there was a moment, near the end . . . I thought you seemed uncomfortable."

"I was, a little." Then she added in a rush, "But I'm perfectly fine now."

"Are you worried about how much longer we can do this?"

"I didn't anticipate shower sex becoming a daily occurrence."

"No, I meant . . . how long will we'll be able to make love, in general."

Amy sighed softly. "I knew what you meant." She paused. "How many times have you read _What to Expect When You're Expecting_?"

"Fourteen."

"And how many times have you studied almost every page of babycenter .com?"

"It varies based on the page, but an average of four."

"So you know the answer. We can make love as long as we feel like it." She took a breath. "I'm sure it will probably start to drop off naturally. We've already had to give up on our favorite position. And, well, after the baby . . . it's going to a big adjustment in more ways than one. But we have two months until then. I just want to enjoy it as long as we can."

"But you promise you'll tell me if it becomes disagreeable?"

"Of course."

Sheldon sighed again. "I don't want to get up and get dressed and drive back to Leonard and Penny's."

"We don't have to." Amy lifted her head to look at his confused face. "You've underestimated me once again. You mocked me for bringing a large bag, but I had a plan. There's another blanket in there."

"But where would we sleep? We don't have any furniture yet."

"There's plush new carpet in our bedroom."

"Which is not a bed."

"Come one! It will be fun! It will be like camping! But without bugs and dirt and nature and all the things we hate!"

Sheldon shook his head softly before kissing her forehead. "Fine. We'll try it. But you have to promise to tell me if it's too uncomfortable for you." He stood and put his hand out to her. "Let's get dried off before we get too cold."

Twenty minutes later, Amy's eyelids were closing as she lay on the floor of their new bedroom with Sheldon, between too blankets, the toss pillows they had sat on earlier under their heads.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered.

"Yes?" Amy opened her eyes.

"Are you a butt woman? I see you looking my posterior when I'm naked."

Amy smiled. "Yes, but that's not all."

"Is it my legs? They're quite long, you've commented on that before."

"Yes, but that's not all."

"My hands? You're always saying I have beautiful hands."

"You do. And you know how to use them. But no."

"My eyes?"

"Yes, but that's not all."

"Oh! I've got it! My eyebrow!"

Amy laughed. "Most certainly, but that's not all."

"What then?"

She reached out behind her to pull him closer, and he obliged by wrapping his arm around her swollen stomach.

"I'm a Sheldon woman."

He kissed her shoulder before she felt his arm relax, his palm on her belly, holding both her and their daughter as they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews! Also, I forgot to inform my Book Club readers that I opened a new story a couple of weeks ago, **_**The Anniversary Evolution**_**, which takes place in this world and in which Book Club is heavily referenced.**_


	20. Awe

**Awe (takes place after _The Murder of Roger Ackroyd_)**

* * *

_"Ada Fowler Cooper, I am your father."_

* * *

Sheldon had moved to a strange state even beyond exhaustion. He sat in the rocking chair, the afternoon sun peeking around the edges of the blind, lending the hospital room a magical glow. Amy was sound asleep, snoring loudly, her face still swollen, dark circles ringing her eyes. Watching her sleep like that was intensely gratifying, to know she could finally have the peace and quiet she needed to recover, after so much activity and pain.

There was a brief knock at the door, and then someone new loudly entered, pushing the clear bassinet in front of her. Sheldon got up quickly and met them.

"Shhh, be quiet, Amy's asleep," he admonished the stranger. He looked down at his daughter (_my daughter!_), watching her tiny face pinch and squish as she made grunt-like noises.

"Sorry, but someone's hungry. And hungry babies don't wait." In spite of the firm rebuttal of the words, they were softened with what Sheldon instantly recognized as a Texas twang. He looked up, chastised and surprised. As though to prove the stranger's words correct, Ada (_my daughter!_) intensified the noises she was making, not full cries yet, but something between a cry and a gasp for air.

Amy was awake, sitting up, almost instantaneously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, honey. She's just hungry." This new woman picked up the baby, with an effortlessness Sheldon envied, and carried her over to Amy. "I'm Barb, your lactation consultant, and I'm here to help. Now, you've haven't done this yet, right?"

At that moment, Ada started to cry, truly cry.

"No," Amy shook her head, "I tried right after she was born, but I couldn't get it. I think I was too fatigued." There was no denying the disappointment in her voice.

"No regret here. With babies, you don't have time for regrets. Only forward momentum from now on. We'll keeping working 'til we get this right." Even Sheldon, still standing at the foot of Amy's bed, felt the soothing authority in Barb's voice.

He sighed softly and shifted his weight, looking down at his shoes. He felt so peripheral and pointless. He didn't know if he should watch or look away. As Barb instructed Amy, he felt lost, looking at each object in the room in turn. This felt like yet another ritual in the secret world of women, a world he did not understand but had witnessed the edges of so many times in the last few months, and he wondered if his presence was an intrusion. Should he leave? Not for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, or even the hundredth time, he felt utterly useless.

About to turn away, he heard Amy. "Sheldon! Look, Sheldon!" He looked at her, beckoned by the unabashed joy in her voice. "She's doing it! We're doing it!"

If he thought Amy was never so beautiful as she was in those moments after their daughter was born, he was wrong again. He knew it was a trick of the lighting in the room, but Amy seemed to glow, the light ringing her head, the light making her rings hanging on the chain around her neck sparkle, sitting on the bed, holding and feeding her baby.

"Come on over, Daddy. There's room for three." Barb waved her arm at him.

He hesitated, still wondering if Amy would want to share this private act with him. Then Amy looked up at him and smiled. "Yes, come sit by us."

Tentatively, he sat on the bed next to her, and his scientific curiosity took over. He watched this most basic of human interactions with awe. Relaxing, he put his arm around Amy's back. She leaned slightly into him.

"Look at you, you're a pro at this already!" Barb said. "I'll leave you now. You know how to burp when you're done, right?"

"Yes. But how will I know when she's done?" Amy asked with a note of panic.

"You'll just know."

"Wait! One more thing. Will you take our picture? Sheldon, give her your phone."

"A picture! Amy, you're not decent!" He looked at her, one side of her gown lowered to her waist, her breast exposed.

"It's for me, for us. I'm not going to put it on Facebook. And you can't really see anything, anyway. Please."

He sighed but passed his phone over to Barb. Anything for Amy.

"First family photo? Smile!" Barb said.

Sheldon leaned in closer, looked up at the phone, and found himself smiling.

* * *

The afternoon was fading into evening, and Sheldon was rocking again, this time, for the first time, holding his daughter. He had been so frightened to do it before, but now he no longer understood why. It felt so natural, once Amy insisted he take her when her own food had arrived.

It had been so easy not to hold her at first. Amy, of course, didn't want to let go and he didn't want her to either. He actually thought it was cruel when Ada was taken away so soon, to be weighed and measured. Even when they gave her back, complete with a hat, Amy wanted to try to nurse, so he left to tell Leonard and Penny, napping against each other in the waiting room, and there were phone calls and then there was a newborn check in the nursery and and and and . . .

Realizing his life was probably going to be a never-ending series of ands from now on, he looked over at Amy, snoring again. To think that twenty-four hours prior he had been studying flash cards that turned out to be almost futile. There was no studying possible for something like this.

He had been worried, at first, when he took the warm bundle in his arms, not that he would drop her (this surprised him, he had worried about that for months), but if he was betraying Amy in some fashion. Wasn't it unfair to love someone so much, so soon, when it had taken him years to learn to love Amy properly, the way she deserved to be loved? But the look Amy had given him when he finally settled in the chair caused those worries to evaporate. Ada was Amy's, of Amy, nurtured by Amy, a gift from Amy. Amy had created this gift with passion and fatigue and love and, finally, agony. So, he sat and rocked his daughter for for over an hour and thought, while Amy dropped quickly back to sleep.

Sheldon thought about at least a thousand things. He looked down at Ada's face, still swollen from her own difficult journey that day, and he brushed his hand along her full head of dark hair and smiled. He sincerely hoped her face would settle into some resemblance of Amy's. Penny had already claimed she looked like him, which he didn't understand at all because the only person she currently resembled was Winston Churchill with a cone head, but that statement disappointed him nonetheless. Amy was so beautiful he wanted her beauty to reflected in everything she touched, everything she created. He also wondered where Ada's life path would lead her, exactly how intelligent she would be, if she would be more drawn to physics or biology. Would she want to gaze out, to expand the universe ever wider, or to gaze in, to understand the unseen depths inside humanity? He didn't really care which branch of science called to her; he just enjoyed imagining a dark-haired little girl giving the same face Amy gave when she was in awe of something.

Awe. That's precisely what it was. And not just awe at Amy, although he knew without a doubt there was no way he could have ever done what she had done a few short hours ago. Not even the usual awe at himself, that Ada was the most perfect baby ever born because she carried his DNA. Not satisfied awe for having survived the crucible of her arrival, because he knew this was just the beginning of another, longer crucible. His awe was directed at the tiny infant in his arms, the wondrous creature he almost could not believe he had had any part in creating. Of all the things he and Amy had set out to do together, this was by far the most triumphant they had ever been. Even though he did not yet see Amy or himself in Ada, he did see a world of possibilities. His heart ached at how blessed he felt at that moment, that Amy loved and trusted him enough to give him this, to think he was ready for this. Here was this small, helpless being, and he and Amy were going to guide her together, show her the world, teach her so many things. It was so much responsibility, but, for once, he wasn't really that frightened. Oh, he knew he probably would be before too long. What was it Tuvok said? "Parenting is so much more overwhelming than one expects." He wondered, not for the first time, how his life had twisted and turned and led him to this magical day, how he had been so fortunate to have the opportunity to create this child, and how fortunate he would be to help form her into her own person.

He also wondered if sleep was something he once dreamed about, but he had to stay awake. Bernadette had texted that she was leaving the airport, and they should be here any minute.

On cue, there was a quiet knock on the door, and Bernadette's blonde head peaked around the corner. She entered on tip-toe, crossed over to Amy and kissed her temple. Amy didn't even stir. Then she came to him - them - and looked down before bending to kiss the baby's forehead. The look she gave Sheldon next worried him that she might kiss him, too, but all she did was smile and pat his arm. Blowing one last kiss toward Amy, she tip-toed out of the room.

Only then did Sheldon meet the other set of eyes, where she had stopped and stood just inside the door. His mother, with tears running down her face._ I've never seen so many people cry as I have today. Amy, the baby, Penny, Leonard, me._

Mary Cooper smiled and walked over to him, bending down close to kiss his forehead. _A lot of kissing, too._ She whispered, "Oh, Shelly. I never thought I'd see this day."

"You've known you were going to see this day for seven months," he whispered back.

"You may be a grown man with a child of your own now, but you are still not allowed to sass your mother."

"Yes, ma'am."

She smiled softly. "You look exhausted. Have you slept?"

"The night before last."

"Well, let me take my grandchild, and you curl up there on that sofa. I won't wake Amy."

Sheldon shook his head. "No, not yet."

"Why not?"

"I need to formally introduce you first. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not." He lifted his daughter up, closer to his mother. "Ada Fowler Cooper, meet your MeeMaw."

Mary Cooper took her granddaughter, another tear on her face (_more crying!_). Sheldon stood with a weariness beyond anything he could imagine, kissed his mother on the cheek (_more kissing!_), took eight steps, and was asleep before his face hit the pillow.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	21. Curses

**Curses (takes place after _Goodnight Moon_)**

* * *

_Sheldon stood up, gingerly carrying his sleeping daughter. "I'll put her to bed and heat up some food for you while you pump."_

_Amy swung her legs over the edge of the bed, when Sheldon stopped and turned in the doorway. "And, Amy? I love you."_

* * *

Just as he was opening the can, he heard the shower start, so Sheldon decided to warm the soup on the stove so that it would stay hot until Amy finished with her shower. It was gently bubbling as he stirred it when Amy joined him, smelling like her body wash. One of his favorite scents. He sat next to her at the island while she ate, and he listened while Amy talked about her empathy for Penny, how difficult it must be to want a baby so badly and have trouble conceiving. He nodded at what he hoped were the appropriate times, thinking that perhaps now was still not the time to point out, yet again, that it was probably the fault of Leonard's subpar sperm.

"Sheldon, have you been saving all the _Doctor Whos_ we've missed?" she asked, putting her bowl in the dishwasher.

"Of course," Sheldon answered, relieved at the change in topic.

"Let's watch them."

Amy curled up next to him and surprised him by initiating a cuddle. Sheldon was baffled by this. He thought she would be furious with him, and, for once, he honestly thought he deserved her wrath. But instead she seemed to be in a good mood. Maybe it was the six hour nap. After the second episode, Amy paused it and asked his opinion of the new Doctor, whether or not it was good idea to make this incarnation a woman. It was a pleasant half-hour spent in discussion of _Doctor Who_ mythology.

"Another episode or is it getting too late? It's eleven already," Sheldon asked, "well after our bed time."

"Actually . . ." Amy reached up to kiss him. When she turned her head and opened her mouth, her tongue brushing his lips, desire pulsed through him. And then she brought her hand to his ear and ran her fingertips delicately along the helix, and he felt his body shiver.

"Amy?" he asked after breaking the kiss for air. "Are you sure? Is it okay?"

"Yes. You know that." She took his hand and pulled him up, leading him to their bedroom.

"Um, I'll just get undressed in there," Sheldon said, dropping her hand and ducking into the walk-in closet. He brought his hand up to his chest._ Pull yourself together! Babylon 5. Greek food. Babylon 5. Greek food. _But he couldn't quiet himself. It had been far too long. Two and a half months, to be precise. And the last time was incomplete; Amy had asked to stop, she wasn't comfortable, and, even though she offered to finish him, the very idea of her not enjoying it had already killed the mood. But last week, Amy had laughed at something he said, and there was something in the way her neck arched . . . he had, shamefully, given into self-abuse.

Amy grinned at him when he came to bed. "Somebody is very, very excited, I see."

Sheldon blushed (_why?_) and crawled in next to her.

"Two things," Amy said, catching his arm as he reached for her. "I'm going to leave the nursing bra on because . . . well, I'm not sure what to do -" He nodded at her like a fool, thankful that he wouldn't have to worry about that blurry line between his lover and someone's mother. "- and remember what the doctor said, you'll probably feel the strings from the IUD."

He nodded again, even more crazed this time, wishing she would just stop talking and let him touch her. Or maybe, watching the way her lips moved when she spoke, she would put her lips on him - somewhere, anywhere!, soon! When he kissed her and she pressed up against him, he had to shift away because it was almost too much (_what is wrong with me?_).

"Sheldon? Are you okay?" Amy picked up his hand, which he noticed was trembling, and kissed his fingertips. "It's still me."

He nodded, but it didn't relieve the pounding aching he felt shooting up from his groin. He kissed her again, putting his palm on her stomach. _Softer than I remember._

"Amy," he whispered.

Not able to help himself, unable to delay his desire, he traced his hand lower. Amy moaned softly when he touched her there. It felt different, too, than he remembered. _I'm moving too fast. But this feels so good. _"Ohhh, Amy."

Touching her there, everything clouded over in his mind and the lightening bolts became almost unbearable. "Amy, please, Amy . . ." he heard himself begging.

She understood him and pulled him toward her and _Dear Lord! How I've missed this!, _giving his mind over to the wonderful sensation that was Amy surrounding him_. _This, too, was different than he remembered, and, yes there was the odd sensation of a string somewhere, but, _Jesus!_, it was good._ This is good, this is good, this good. _But his next thought was torture to him when he realized Amy was not moving in time with him. _I need to stop, I need to slow down, I need to ask her _\- _Nononono, too soon!_ It was too late to stop, it was too late to slow down, it was to late to ask her what was wrong, and, even as his body cried out in release and pleasure, his mind filled with humiliation and remorse.

He rolled off of her with a groan and covered his face with his hands. _This is why people curse._ It was awful. It was the worst it had ever been. Even the first time, which was probably as fast and as awkward, he had somehow managed to save it by whispering his love for her. _Curses! _"Amy, I'm so sorry."

She didn't respond. He actually preferred this over anything he could imagine she might say. If she had said something condescending like "it's okay" or "it was fine," he would have screamed. Then he remembered something else that had happened - or, well, not happened. He put his hands down and rolled on his side to look at her. She was staring up at the ceiling.

"Amy, do you want me to -"

"No, thank you." She said it blandly, still looking at the ceiling.

_Frak! _It was even worse than he thought. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

"I don't think anything is damaged." She reached over and turned out the light.

_Frak, frak!_ Sheldon rolled away from her, clutching his side of the bed and wallowing in self-pity and shame. _I am a horrible person. I don't deserve her. First, I ran away and left her alone with a sick baby. And then, after she immediately forgave me, I lose all self-control. _He jerked when he felt her arm encircle his waist.

"Shhh, Sheldon," she whispered. "It will get better. Go to sleep. Twelve-thirty will be here too soon." She kissed his back, between his shoulder blades, and then rested her head there.

He reached up and brushed his oddly damp eye. _How had she known?_ Then he lowered his hand and took hers, resting them both over his stomach. But he was still awake when the twelve-thirty feeding came.

* * *

The next day, his mind still in an embarrassed jumble, Sheldon found himself pacing outside of Howard's lab with no idea how he had got there. _This is absurd. I should go back to my office and try to work again._ Just as he had turned on his heel, Howard stuck his head out.

"Sheldon? Do you need something?"

"Nothing. Why would you think I need something?"

"Because I've seen you walk past my door at least four times."

Sheldon's shoulders dropped even further. He shrugged and entered Howard's lab, shutting the door behind him.

"So, what's up?" Howard asked.

"I need advise." Sheldon blew this statement out with a lot of air.

"Okay, sure. About what?"

"It's, um, personal." Sheldon looked down at his shoes.

"Did you ask Leonard? I thought personal was in his territory. I'm assigned driving, appliance repair, and explaining jokes. Raj has romance, homemaking, and anything else Martha Stewart might do."

Perspiring heavily, Sheldon didn't respond, still looking at his shoes. _This is a bad idea. I shouldn't be here. I swore I'd never be here._

After a lengthy pause, Howard slapped the edge of one of his tables. "Oh, my God! This is about sex, isn't it?"

Sheldon looked up at his grinning friend, shooting daggers at him. "Howard, if you're going to mock me, I'm leaving."

"No, no, please just me savor this moment." Howard looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath in and then back out. "Okay, that felt good. My guess is no action since the baby. And, since the last time you even mentioned sex it sounded liked you two were auditioning for _Deep Throat_ Part 2, you're worried."

"The informant in _The X-Files_?" _Why are people always bringing up random bits of unrelated information around me?_

"What? _The X-Files_? Oh, yeah. Never mind. Am I right, no hanky-panky makes Sheldon a very dull boy?" Howard asked, the grin still plastered to his face.

"Actually, no." Sheldon wondered if that should make him feel better, but it didn't. "It's just that it was . . . uh . . . not up to our usual standards."

"So it sucked? Or, wait!, is that it? It didn't suck?"

Sheldon threw up his hands and walked toward the door. _This was a horrible idea! I should have stuck with my original promise never to discuss this! _He turned around at the last minute, and narrowed his eyes at his friend. "You lied. You once said sex was like pizza and that even bad pizza is delicious. Well, it's not true!"

He had just opened the door, when Howard called, "Okay, okay, wait. I'm sorry. I'll be serious. I know this is hard for you. You could have looked this up, so you obviously want to talk about it."

Sheldon started. Was Howard right? Why didn't he look it up? Why did he come down here to Howard's lab? Did he want to talk about it with someone who had actually been through it? Sheldon turned back to look at Howard again but didn't step any closer, his hand still on the door knob.

Howard sighed. "I'll tell you something embarrassing about myself and you just nod if I'm right, okay?"

Sheldon nodded and shut the door.

"And I assume this won't be discussed outside this room?"

Sheldon nodded again.

"Okay, after Jacob was born and we finally did it again, Bernie cried because it hurt. And it took forever for me to figure out how to get her off again, it was liked it had moved or changed or something. I felt like a flunkee."

Feeling his face get hot, Sheldon nodded slowly._ Close enough._

"Apparently it has to do with hormones. Lubricant helps. You can't have too much."

Sheldon nodded once more. Nodding was much safer than speaking. "Thank you," he mumbled and went to leave again.

"Actually, I have a question for you," Howard stopped him.

Turning around again, he asked, "What?"

"How is Amy?"

Sheldon's shoulders relaxed. "Quite well. Ada is sleeping six hours straight now after her twelve-thirty feeding, so we're both getting more sleep."

"Listen. I don't know how much Amy told you, but Bernie and I were in a really bad spot after Jacob was born. I beat myself up about it, I thought it was all my fault because I thought she only had a baby for me. Anyway," Howard took a deep breath, "Bernie was depressed. Like, for real. Postpartum depression. But we never realized it because we never talked. So, my best advice to you is not about sex. It's about Amy. Pay attention and talk to her."

"I talk to Amy all the time." Sheldon's heart thundered in his chest. Was something wrong with Amy? Was this Howard's way of telling him something? "Do you think Amy is depressed? Has Bernadette said something?"

"I didn't mean that. It's not my place to know these things. And, no, Bernie, hasn't said anything. Actually, she's jealous of Amy, I think. She talks about how well she seems to have adjusted. But . . ." Howard shrugged.

"But what?" Sheldon practically yelled, taking a step toward Howard.

His friend put up his hands. "Calm down. I'm not saying anything bad. I'm just trying to tell you what I learned. You came to me for advise, remember? Let me guess, when you and Amy talk, you talk about the baby? Even on your date nights?"

Sheldon thought. "Well, yes."

"And Amy is home alone all day with the baby?"

"She runs errands sometimes. She's gone out to lunch with Penny. And they had a Girls Night last week."

"With Ada?"

"Yes, with Ada. It seems to a social imperative for women to gather in groups and speak to infants in high-pitched voices."

"This is what I learned: women like Bernie and Amy, they don't do well stuck at home all day with a baby. Their brains aren't wired that way." Howard shrugged. "Maybe no woman's brain is wired that way. Even if Amy is happy and not depressed, she's still a very intelligent woman. She cannot live in a baby vacuum. It was one of the mistakes we made."

"I don't entirely understand." Sheldon took a few steps to stand right in front of Howard again. "Go on."

"Since Ada was born, have you ever had a conversation not about the baby or the house or food or sleep?"

"Yes. Last night we talked about _Doctor Who_." _Aha! We are doing something better than Howard and Bernadette!_

"So, just once?"

Sheldon cocked his head and thought. His pride deflated. "Yes."

"Did you and Amy fall in love talking about babies and sleep?"

"No, of course not." Suddenly it all became clear. _And the one time we talked about Doctor Who, Amy wanted . . . _"Oh, I see now. Do you think the two things are related? Sex and the baby vacuum?"

"Hmmm," Howard furrowed his brow. "Yes and no. The baby vacuum is about more than sex. And solving it won't turn you into Casanova. But they may overlap some. Seriously, go buy some lubricant. The biggest bottle you can find. And if that doesn't work, I'll take you this store where they sell this thing that . . ."

Then Howard told Sheldon the most pornographic thing he had ever heard. It was fascinating.

* * *

The next day, Sheldon walked over to the neuroscience division office and, after an entirely too lengthy and frustrating conversation, managed to pick up the issues of _The Journal of Neuroscience_ and a couple of other journals that had arrived for Amy while she was on maternity leave. He took them home and thrilled at her squeal of delight and thank you kiss.

He looked down at her, her arms still around him. "I thought I'd take Ada to Retro Video Game Night tonight."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "To Leonard's? Shouldn't we ask Penny first?"

"Penny isn't going to be there. Some sort of movie thing. I didn't understand it."

"Really?"

"I'm perfectly capable of taking my daughter to a friend's house."

"Of course you are. But what will I do?"

Sheldon bent down to kiss her again. "Anything you want. Except cleaning or cooking. I expressly forbid that."

"You can't forbid me from doing anything," Amy huffed. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, and he smiled at her spark of defiance.

The next week, on their regularly scheduled Date Night, Sheldon proposed agreeing to not discuss Ada or anything domestic. Despite her obvious confusion, Amy agreed. The first five minutes were, admittedly, strained for topics, but then they fell into a pattern they had enjoyed for years. One of the articles that Amy was especially impressed with, Sheldon's work, the recently released schedule for Masterpiece Mystery, the story arc of the current season of _Forever,_ and Comic-Con tickets.

That night, with some lubricant, it was much, much better.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews! (And, yes, I meant frak. I think if Sheldon ever really, really wants to curse, that's what it will be.)**_


	22. The Usual

**The Usual_ (takes place after_**** T****he Martian**_**)**_

* * *

_Thankfully, at that moment the music stopped. Only to be followed by the sound of his voice mail greeting on speaker phone coming from the kitchen._

_"Sheldon, this is your wife. I just called to tell you that you are a sentimental old fool. And that I love you for it," Amy said._

* * *

That night, it was the usual.

As Amy lay in the bliss that was Sheldon's arms, listening to him drop off to sleep, her body both adored and satisfied, she allowed her mind to wander toward the various meanings of their usual.

Most often, he covered her in his love and need, giving to her from above, his face so close to hers. She wondered once, after a night of gentle love-making in this fashion, why the missionary position was mocked. Even though it was true she could only rarely reach a climax without assistance, she found it wasn't necessary. And not just because Sheldon had already brought her there. It was about being with him in the closest possible way, his chest sliding and teasing over hers, never feeling more secure in his embrace and his love. She felt like his secret, his treasure, something he was keeping hidden from everyone else.

There were a few variations. Sometimes she would lengthen her legs and wrap them around his, her heels resting in the crook of his knees. Often, like that, she enjoyed putting at least one hand on his fine buttocks, feeling it contract and dimple with each thrust that he made. At other times, she would lift her legs up, and, in one of her favorite sensations, Sheldon would help her, running his palm along the back of her thigh, burying himself deeper into her.

There was a rhythm they had perfected, too. Sheldon liked calm and slow. This had surprised her. She had assumed sex with Sheldon would be faster, with more force, the same ferocious energy he applied to almost everything. But, no, almost always when he set the pace, it was like he was taking his time, almost always bringing her pleasure first, and then prolonging her ecstasy as long as he could. Love from Sheldon was smooth as glass.

Especially in the mornings, when Sheldon was just as likely to wrap himself around her from behind, slipping one arm under her, holding on to her so tightly as he loved her. Then it was very slow.

Sometimes, inflamed in some fashion, by his voice, his body, she would take control of the situation and ride him out to sea, his hands pressed against her hips, cupping her bottom as she leaned down into him, her hair falling around them, enclosing them in a private tent of kisses. As good as this was, it was even better if she had the forethought to stack all the bed pillows up for him to lean back upon. Mmmmm, yes, that angle was the best. This way, with her on top, Sheldon told her the speed fluctuated wildly with no predictable pattern, and it was all he could do to keep up. She was fearful he disliked it, that he found it disorderly. No, he reassured her with a kiss. It was one of the few surprises he loved.

Things had changed with time, of course. He was more willing talk about it now. He had gotten more vocal after a few months as, she suspected, his worries subsided. And, of course, it could not forever be their honeymoon or the babymoon, or even, she smiled at the memory, the four times a week average she had once bragged about. Now, busy adjusting to the constantly changing role as parents, they managed once a week. Although last week, they had squeezed in a second time, so perhaps they were rebounding.

She had been worried, after Ada, about her body. Things were so different, less firm, her breasts had lost their perkiness, her stomach and hips were scarred by stretch marks, and she could not seem to loose all of the weight. During the day, Sheldon had never said anything about these changes, even when she complained that none of her old clothes fit, and she wasn't sure what that silence meant. But then, the second time they made love after Ada was born (the first time was awful and best forgot), he had slowly kissed each stretch mark before burying his face in her newly flabby stomach. He still didn't say anything, but, this time, she knew exactly what he meant.

Not that the mechanics mattered as much as the emotions to Amy. Well, of course they mattered, but she never had to worry that once Sheldon decided he was going to do this that he would apply himself to doing it to the very best of his ability. And, boy, did he!

What mattered was the way he made her feel in her soul. She could not ever imagine having some sort of casual sexual encounter. This meeting with Sheldon, those precious moments when they were the closest they could possibly be, made her heart ache with joy and contentment. She felt like the luckiest woman in the world. He repeatedly surprised her with his depth of feeling, the words he would occasionally whisper in her ear while he was loving her in every way it was possible to love someone. Even if he didn't speak, the look in his eyes was the most beautiful thing she had ever known, and it made the ardor in her chest almost burn through her skin.

That night, the pleasure of seeing a glimmer of his carefully hidden romantic side peeking through had touched her more than could say. She had taken her sentimental old fool to bed, and, after he had pleasured her, she had taken him in. She wanted him with a passion that had not lessened with time, and she coaxed him as deeply as she could, and he had brought her leg up with understanding.

Sheldon shifted slightly, and she met his next thrust with a throaty exhale. He smiled down at her before leaning his forehead against hers. Her body moved in time with his, and each time he reached for her, deep inside her, a tiny reflection of her earlier pleasure rippled through her.

"Ohh, Sheldon," she moaned, just before he kissed her.

His cheek brushed against hers, and he whispered, short of breath, raspy with his own approaching climax, "I love you so much, I want the whole world to hear it."

And then her name was on his lips.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	23. Daybreak Coitus

**Daybreak Coitus_ (takes place after_**** T****he Great Gatsby**_**)**_

* * *

_"Howard," he turned away from her, "I see you were successful in your plan to be childless in order to rediscover the joys of coitus at daybreak."_

* * *

Even before he was awake, Sheldon knew what it was. The heavy pushing between his shoulder blades, the vice grip on his waist. Amy. As his eyelids fluttered open (_6:25 exactly_), he didn't need to look down to see that all the blankets were spilling off of his side of the bed. Amy was cold.

Carefully, trying not to wake her, he rolled on his back to pull some blankets back over her. Her hands loosened from his waist, and she mumbled into his chest as he rolled all the way over to hold her closer and warm her up.

Saturday morning.

Before Amy, Saturday morning was an unwavering series of events. He would set his alarm to wake up even earlier than his natural time, get up, and eat cereal in his spot while watching reruns of _Doctor Who_. After Amy, all hell broke loose.

At first, Amy's presence in bed had not been a major change. He would extricate himself from the Amy-is-cold-and-burrowing-into-my-back position, leave her to sleep in on her own, and watch_ Doctor Who_. But then, sooner than he expected . . . well, he found a much better ways to spend his early Saturday mornings than _Doctor Who._ Even after the novelty of finally putting his morning erection to use had faded, the sheer enjoyment never dulled and he almost always tried to start some sort of alternative Saturday morning activity. Doctor who?

Daybreak coitus.

Sheldon discovered that daybreak coitus was different, very different, than coitus almost any other time of day. It could be a lot of things at those other times, but it involved words like steamy and sultry and torrid. Yes, it could be soft and slow and subdued, too, but it wasn't the same. In the morning, it was quieter and more tender and delicate. It was just as warm and as comforting as the blankets that wrapped them.

Then everything had changed again, first by the force of Mother Nature and then by the force of a baby, and daybreak coitus was elusive. Most of the time, a child on a very rigid schedule was a wonderful thing. But on a Saturday morning, when Sheldon would have preferred to make warm love to his wife and fall back to sleep with her, it was not a wonderful thing.

The best that could be hoped for is that Ada would sleep until seven, before he was forced to sooth her cries with a clean diaper and deliver her to Amy for her breakfast while he showered. This was the new ritual. He would let Amy fall back to sleep and he would take Ada to the living room with him. They would watch _Doctor Who_ together; or, rather, lately, he would try to watch _Doctor Who_ while Ada jabbered incessantly and chewed and drooled on her toys.

Sometimes, when the jabbering became fingernails on the chalkboard of his mind, he would retreat into a memory. A memory, more often than not, of another Saturday morning.

After the earthquake, living in Leonard and Penny's guest room, Sheldon had initially insisted on absolutely no sex when the other couple was at home. What if they were overheard? He remembered with disturbing clarity how embarrassing it had been to lay in his bedroom while coitus was taking place next door. They would only do it if they were certain that Leonard and Penny would be gone for an hour at a minimum, so that absolutely no trace evidence of their activity remained. If Amy was frustrated by his decision, and he suspected she thought it was overkill, she at least kept it to herself. Mostly. There was that one Book Club Night . . . But then Book Club almost always put Amy in the mood.

And then there was the other thing, the thing Amy had insisted was not a project or an experiment or a task with a completion date, that it was just something they were going to let happen if it was meant to be or some other hippy-dippy nonsense. But, no matter how often Sheldon tried to force it to the back of his mind, the two things combined to make sex strange at first, not the smooth ebb and flow they had perfected. First, it was the planning. _The Hofsteders are going to a movie on Thursday, the 7:10 showing, so at 7:15 Thursday, Amy and I will have sex._ And then there was the other thing, the knowledge constantly on the edge of his brain that this wasn't just about loving Amy anymore or just because it felt good, but because they were actually attempting to create something. What if they didn't succeed? What if they weren't doing it often enough? Weren't some positions better for this than others (of course there were, he had researched it without admitting it to Amy)? What if there was something wrong with him?

He wasn't sure he believed Penny had been given a free night in the hotel less than ten minutes from their house by the movie studio. But he kept his mouth shut as it meant that he and Amy had - at last! - sixteen uninterrupted hours alone. They had a fabulous evening doing all the things they loved to do without Penny or Leonard making fun of them, and that night, well, it was very, very steamy indeed. But it was still strange, despite its bone shaking pleasures. Planned and with a purpose.

The next morning, still alone in the house, it was the warmest and most comforting it had been since the earthquake. It was spontaneous and soft and slow and tender. Still groggy from sleep, The Project had truly stayed away from his mind. They had ebbed and flowed like the most serene ocean tide. He had brought Amy close to the edge twice before he came into her, and, once there, he concentrated on sending her spiraling, at last, at the same moment he did. It was, in a word, sublime.

As both of them were geniuses, it had not taken long at all to do the math. It was that weekend they had conceived Ada. There was no way to know for sure which time. Scientifically, of course, it was neither. The perfect half of Amy had already been journeying for a few hours. And the perfect half of him would journey for a day or two more. So technically, scientifically, it had happened sometime in the middle of Sunday, probably, while he was on his computer and Amy was reading. But to Sheldon, always, it was that Saturday morning.

He waited with almost-bated breath the current Saturday morning, holding and warming Amy, until he knew it was after 6:30. _Please, please, please, let Ada sleep_, he prayed. Even though the night prior was Book Club Night, poor Ada had been fussy and inconsolable, the pain of her budding teeth keeping them both occupied. For once after Book Club, Amy was not in the mood.

Finally, when he was certain enough time had passed, he started the circles on Amy's hip until she woke up. Then he kissed her sleepy face until she was fully conscious, and she worked her hand into his pajama bottoms.

"Slowly," he whispered between kisses. "Very slowly."

Amy's hand travelled to the buttons on his pajama shirt, instead, and she slowly, very slowly, undressed him. He slowly, very slowly, lifted her nightgown up, working his way up with his lips: her legs, her thighs, her hips, her stomach. He buried his face between her wonderful, full breasts.

"Mmmmmm, just a little bit there," she whispered.

He moved on, taking her night gown off, kissing his way back up to her lips. They kissed slowly, softly, almost timidly, and even when his tongue met hers, he harnessed it with gentleness. Moving on, he did the same to her earlobe and her collarbones. He moved back to her lips, drawing her pleasure out of her, slowly, very slowly, circling his finger where she liked it. He breathed in every little pant she gave out. Right when she was on precipice, he pulled back, resting his palm on her stomach. He took in her little moan of frustration, too.

"Slowly," he whispered.

And then his fingers were inside of her and she spread her legs wider for him, and loved her there, slowly, very slowly, pushing gently until she was at the very edge once again. He withdrew.

"Sheldonnnn," she moaned.

"I want to do it together," he whispered.

Amy smiled softly at that and took him into her warmest of embraces, and he thought he might die of happiness there. He pulled back slightly, to make room for his hand, but she slid hers in instead.

"I'll do it," she whispered. "You just enjoy."

He remembered the first time Amy had done that, how alarmed he had been. Surely that was on the list of activities that were too personal to share, even with one's spouse? But, as startled as he was, he had to admit it was fascinating. And it rapidly became highly arousing. He couldn't explain it, it seemed counterintuitive; should he be offended, was it a critique of his skill? But, no, he quickly understood when she said the same thing to him she did that current morning: "You just enjoy." It was a gift from Amy.

So, Sheldon nodded softly in gratitude and started the easy and quiet pace again. "Very slowly," he whispered before kissing her.

She understood him, he knew, and he could feel her hand fluttering in the same unhurried manner he was enjoying, alternately kissing her and breathing into her hair. It was even better than he remembered, and he was lost in her - the feeling of her, the sounds she was making, the way she smelled, the looks crossing her face as she worked with him to bring herself pleasure. She pulled away from his lips to take her breaths, and he rested his forehead against hers, until he heard the first note of her cry. He let himself go, feeling her pulse around him as he released into her.

The sun had been up for a good forty-five minutes by now, if not longer. But at that exact moment, it broke over the horizon and a few tiny shafts darted around the blind.

Saturday morning, daybreak coitus. It was sublime.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	24. The Fourth Time

**The Fourth Time_ (takes place after_**** Hector and the Search for Happiness**_**)**_

* * *

_"Remember the first day we went back to work after Valentine's Day? And you slammed the door? That was a steamy love affair sort of surprise."_

_"Of course I remember. It was the fourth time we made love. I will admit to you my work was absolutely non-existent for two weeks that February."_

* * *

He had been waiting, and a zing of excitement went through him when he heard the door open and saw Amy enter, her hands full of grocery bags. For the previous two days, he had been in a work fog, running through the motions of his life as his mind raced with his new idea and his hands strived to keep up. He knew that Amy understood, she had never seemed to mind these occasional bursts in the past; but this was the first work fog since Ada, and he realized, shuddering out of it, that perhaps he had left Amy with too much to do alone. So, all day, he was determined to be the best possible house husband and father he could, and the little smiled that played at Amy's lips when he insisted on taking the vacuum from her had been reward enough. No, that wasn't true. Thus the zing.

Sheldon sat down the duster and came to take one of the bags from her loaded arms, shutting the door behind her. He wanted to slam it, but . . .

"Where's Ada?" she said quietly. There was so rarely silence now.

"Sleeping." Instead of walking toward the kitchen he carefully set the bag down on the floor next to her.

"But her nap time should have been over, what?, five minutes ago," Amy said. "And what are you doing with the groceries? I bought ice cream as you requested."

"She looked so peaceful I decided to let her sleep." Sheldon took the other bag from her arm and set it down on the floor, also.

Amy's brow furrowed deeply. "What's going on?"

"I have something else in mind."

Before she could reply, he pushed her against the door, raising her arms above her head, holding them in place, and leaned down to kiss her. He deepened the kiss, pressing against her in a way he hoped told her that this was not just a kiss.

"Sheldon?" she asked when he finally tore himself away from her.

"I'm surprising you," he said, not letting go of her hands but using them to gently pull her with him as he walked backwards toward the hallway. "The fourth time."

He saw understanding in her eyes as their Book Night conversation came back to her. He was revisiting a memory and taking her with him. The fourth time they made love.

* * *

". . . And, so I think- " Amy dropped her keys in the bowl by the door but jumped as the Sheldon reached over her to slam the door behind them. "Sheldon? What's wrong?"

Instead of replying, he pushed her against the door, startling her. He leaned down to kiss her, and his ferocity almost frightened her. This was not the controlled kissing she knew. Surprise and confusion, though, were rapidly being replaced by pleasure, as one hand was already finding the buttons to her cardigan; then he used the hand still on her waist to pull her gently as he walked backwards toward the hallway. _Wow, we're going to undress each other on the way to the bedroom. There'll be a trail of clothes, like in a movie. That's hot._

At last the cardigan fell. The walked some more, slowly. His tee shirts flew. They walked slowly. Her blouse, slow movement. _Should we moving faster? Should I say something? Although we never talk during this._ Her thoughts were interrupted by Sheldon fumbling with her bra clasp. All that was necessary to foil a genius? A woman's bra. Amy smiled but only to herself, not wanting Sheldon to think she was laughing at him, before reaching around to assist.

* * *

Her bra was unhooked and gone. He saw the spark of surprise in her eyes; he had been so swift, she had not even realized he was touching the clasp. Even a woman's bra couldn't foil a genius forever. Amy laughed as he threw the bra over his shoulder.

"What's so funny?" Sheldon asked, interrupting their amble down the hallway.

"I was just remembering how many months it took you to master that."

"Mmmmmm," he kissed her again, "not true. I was trying to be sexy and strip you slowly."

"You're still a horrible liar. Now get naked."

Their march to the bedroom complete, they separated and each removed their own bottom halves of clothing. Because sometimes speed and ease were even better than sexy stripping. Then more kissing, more touching, more caressing. Amy grabbed his arousal and squeezed it, surprising him. He sucked in a mouthful of air.

"God, that's good," Sheldon said into her hair before she pushed him backwards onto their bed. Because there was never any doubt where this was happening.

* * *

_Um, okay, we're naked, and we're only two-thirds of the way to the bedroom. Now what?_ Then, almost timidly, Sheldon started to open his old bedroom door as he was still kissing her._ What is he doing? Where are we going?_ She felt the edge of the bed hit the back of her knees. _Here?_ Amy was surprised again. She has thought that coitus would be always be their bedroom; it seemed a more natural place, because it was theirs and because there weren't action figures watching them. But as he let go of her long enough to pull the blankets down, she realized this was, in fact, happening right here.

* * *

Amy straddled Sheldon's stomach and leaned toward him, her large, full breasts near his face. He knew what she wanted, and he cupped one breast before running his tongue along the nipple. Then the other. Amy arched away from him and moaned in pleasure. How he loved her breasts! He was certain that whenever he died, he wanted it to be between them. She pulled away from him. "That's enough."

"But they're magnificent." He thought he heard a whimper in his voice. He would have been embarrassed, but, well, it was Amy.

"Yes, they are. But you know what happens if you play with them for too long these days."

Sheldon shook his head, not wanting them to dwell on that topic, because experience had taught him it was a mood killer. Amy scooted down, rubbing him with herself, sending a jolt through his pelvis.

"Yesss," they both hissed at the same time. Amy rubbed up and then down, gradually increasing her speed, tilting closer to Sheldon, closer to his body, his lips.

"Wait, shouldn't I be on top?" he said between heavy breaths.

Amy smiled and kissed him. "Too late," she murmured into his mouth. "I want you this way. I like the way it feels."

He surrendered to her desires. He loved it when she told him what she wanted, how she wanted him.

* * *

Sheldon was on top, of course. He was slowly, with agonizingly good precision, fondling and licking her small, pert breasts, in every way he had learned so far. Amy's body arched for him over and over again. She gave her mind over to the sensations. Everything, her mind and her body, wanted him so badly. Right now. But, also, at the same time, her mind and her body loved being in this suspended state, the anticipation building ever higher with each touch from Sheldon's tongue, never wanting it to end. She wanted to touch him and make him feel that way, too. Almost unconsciously, she had reached down to touch him, to touch his arousal pressing against her thigh.

Sheldon froze, his eyes locking onto hers. Then he reached down, too, and pulled her hand away. For a minute, nothing else happened. They were still looking at each other. She wondered how long it would be before Sheldon let her touch him there. And how long it would be before she worked up the courage to ask him about it. She suspected he was fearful of what might happen, that maybe he would be too excited and lose control. She wondered if there would never be a time that they would be comfortable enough with each other, even in these most intimate moments, to explain what they wanted, how they wanted it.

But then Sheldon ran his hand down her stomach, and it quivered in excitement. Anticipation, again. A question formed in his eyes and she nodded, as they always did. She gasped and shut her eyes as his first touch sent electricity through her. As she slipped into the most exquisite type of pleasure, she wondered if they would always be asking permission.

* * *

Amy didn't ask permission, she just raised up slightly, and used her hand to guide Sheldon into her. They both gasped. That never changed. She leaned closer to him again, to alternately kiss him or just rest her forehead again his, setting a pace with her hips. Sheldon was lost in the joy that was both feeling her around him and the rubbing on his pelvic bone.

"Sheldon," she whispered to him.

Understanding every sound that came from her lips, Sheldon's hand came between them. She shifted enough for him to find what she wanted, and moaned deeply when his fingertip made contact.

"Yes, yes," she whispered again.

* * *

Coming down from her climax, still grinding her teeth, even as her body was awash in bliss, she felt on the edge of her mind, as she had the other times Sheldon had brought her there, if perhaps her cry was too loud. She tried to keep her mouth shut, thus the clamping of her teeth, but it was so difficult in the moment. But the thought floated away from her, only a slightly gray cloud mixed with the white fluffy ones she seeing.

Sheldon kissed her, gently, on the cheek before looking at her again, his eyes dark and hungry. She smiled shyly and nodded, spreading her legs further for him, helping him find his way to her. They both gasped.

And they had slow, steady, quiet, coitus. It was, she would think later, the first time they had mastered the rhythm together, each body moving in time with the other, the first time her hips rose to meet his every thrust, the first time she had anticipated his every move. It was beautiful.

* * *

"God, woman!" Sheldon yelled as Amy came down from her climax. _God, I love the sight and sound of that._

"Too loud?" Amy managed to heave out between pants, resting her forehead on his shoulder.

"Never," he replied, and kissed the top of her head. "I love it. I'm just glad we remembered to shut the door."

Amy opened her eyes and grinned with abandon before gripping the comforter on either side of Sheldon's head and pressing down deeply with her hips.

And they finished making love with speed and a lot of noise, until Sheldon yelled her name. It was a rhythm they knew as well as their heartbeats, each body moving in time with the other. His hips rose to meet her every movement. It was beautiful.

* * *

They had rolled on their sides, not to used to Sheldon's smaller bed, holding each other tightly, grasping the blankets as they turned so they remained covered. Each of the four times they had made love, they were always covered.

"I love you, Amy," Sheldon whispered through half-closed eyes.

"I love you, too, Sheldon," she replied, her own eyelids heavy.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

"Not with you here. I could take a nap, just like this."

"Then let's take a nap," he replied, punctuating his words a small yawn. "We have nothing else to worry about."

And so they dozed for almost an hour, wrapped up in each other, not a care in the world.

* * *

Grateful yet again that they had chosen such a large bed, Sheldon watched Amy stretch out completely naked on top of the comforter. He moved to wrap his arms around her.

"I love you, Sheldon," she said.

"Mmmm, you too," he said into her neck, fighting the drowsy feeling. "Was it a nice surprise? Just like the fourth time?"

"Yes, it was a nice surprise. But it was nothing like the fourth time."

"You're right. But maybe we could -"

He was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds on the monitor of a baby waking up. Not crying yet, but audible pouting, as Amy called it. They both sighed. Sheldon mumbled as he rolled away from his wife, "I really wanted a nap and a shower."

"You'll get Ada and I'll unpack the groceries?" Amy asked, sitting up.

"Unless you'd rather get her," Sheldon sat up, too.

"No, go ahead. I have to make baby food. And make dinner. And chop vegetables for this week," Amy grabbed her underwear from the floor.

"And I still haven't finished dusting. Or start to clean the bathrooms. And the dryer went off in the middle of that." Sheldon looked around for his own underwear.

Amy threw them at him. "No rest for the weary."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	25. Adoration

**Adoration_ (takes place after_ A Wrinkle in Time**_**)**_

* * *

_He reached forward to turn the jets off and then stood in the bathtub, watering running off of his sleek body. "This is what is going to happen next: I am going to jump in the shower to wash off this bacteria. You are going to drain the tub and use that little hand-held sprayer to do the same. And then . . ." he leaned forward, braced his hands on the side of the tub, and bent down to whisper in her ear until he heard her gulp._

_Then he stood, gave her a wink, and got out of the bathtub._

* * *

Her heart racing, she sat on the edge of the bed, her bathrobe knotted tightly around her waist. Amy didn't fully understand why she was so nervous. Part of it was excitement, yes, that part was perfectly understandable. How could she not be excited at what Sheldon had said to her? How did it go again?

"This is what is going to happen next: I am going to jump in the shower to wash this bacteria off. You are going to drain the tub and use that little hand-held sprayer to do the same. And then we're going to meet in the bedroom, and I'm going to give you cunnilingus so lengthy and artfully executed you won't be able to name the lobes of the brain."

Thinking of it made her heartbeat increase even further. It had been awhile. No, it had been too long. But she had let time pass without comment or even without asking for it. There were reasons, of course. One was that parenting took up far more time than she ever previously thought she possessed, so that when she and Sheldon did make love, it was much more likely to be the usual than anything special. She had no complaints with this, really; she loved the usual, and she recognized that it was more important that they were having sex on a regular basis. Also, she had always wondered if Sheldon had seen something he couldn't unsee when Ada was born. He had ended up much closer to the action than either of them had planned, and maybe his memory was scarred in some way.

Lost in the memory herself, she jumped when Sheldon walked into the bedroom, his hair still wet, his body still naked.

"You were deep in thought," he said as he sat down next to her.

"It was nothing." She smiled at him.

He reached for her, untying the knot on her robe, and she met his warm soft lips. She waited for him to make the move, and it wasn't long before he ran his tongue along her upper lip, asking for entrance. She let him in, but he didn't stay long.

"What wrong?" he asked, pulling back but his face still so close to hers, his hands still on her waist.

"You don't have to . . . do this . . . for me. It if bothers you or confuses you or . . . something," she shrugged.

Sheldon wrinkled his brow. "Do you not want it? You can just decline, you know that."

"No, I want it. It's just that . . . it's been so long . . . I thought maybe . . . you didn't want it."

He pulled her in for a hug, and she took a deep breath of his soapy smell. "Oh, Amy, the only thing that confuses me is why you would doubt that that I wouldn't want to love every single part of you in any way that makes you feel good and makes you understand just how much I adore you." He sighed. "I'm sorry it's been so long. I shouldn't have allowed that to happen."

"You don't have to . . . if you saw something . . . you know, when Ada was born," she whispered.

Sheldon pushed her away so that she could look at him. "I'm going to say something very hippy dippy, so listen closely. Do you know what I saw that day? I saw the strongest, most beautiful woman in the world perform a miracle. I saw the woman I love more than I ever thought was possible pass through agony to give me a gift that only doubled that love. Yes, at first I was frightened, but, afterwards, when you were smiling and crying and holding our baby . . ." He took a deep breath. "Well, I can't explain it. But I do know this: that woman is the woman I want to make to love to. In every way possible."

Amy smiled at him. "I love you so much."

He smiled back. "I love you, too." He gave her a gentle kiss. "So, shall I?"

"Oh, please do."

This time, she met his mouth with equal passion, one heated kiss melting into another, giving him all the air he would take. He lowered the robe down her shoulders and off of her arms, letting it fall around her on the bed. Then, he lowered her back and began the slow, wonderful procession down her body. Even when he dropped to his knees by the side of the bed, he took his time, tickling her lightly with his fingertips behind her knees, long, slow, sloppy kisses all the way up her inner thigh. And then he was there, and she gasped and arched away from him for a second before sought her again.

He was loving her slowly, softly, gently. Unlike previous times, when he used at least one hand to touch her elsewhere, he was concentrating all of his attention on that one small piece of her flesh, no where else, the one tiny part that had so much power over her. It built slowly until she was in a state of pendulous desire, the sensations skirting, grazing what she wanted most but never fully grasping it. It was a delicious agony, this suspended animation of pleasure; she both needed it to end and never wanted it to end. Sheldon was killing her softly. Barely able to breathe, barely able to withstand the onslaught of bliss, she managed to open her eyes and look down at him, to see if she could determine what he was doing, what he was thinking, how long he planned to torture her with this delicacy.

Amy met his eyes. He was staring at her. For some reason, she hadn't expected him to be watching her so closely. His eyes were dark and hungry. She brushed against it again, what she wanted, and her back arched. Then, at the same moment Sheldon started to increase his speed, he raised an eyebrow at her. It was the eyebrow even more than the speed she had so longingly desired that sent the hot rush of ecstasy through her. Her eyes shut again, tightly, her head fell back, and her cries almost sounded like weeping.

She came down from her high to seeing him getting up. He sat down on the bed next to her and reached over for the washcloth he had brought to wash his face. She smiled. Well, he was still Sheldon. When he lay down on his side next to her, she rolled over on her own side to face him. He started brushing her arm with his fingertips.

"I hope that was worth the wait," he said, softly.

"You have no idea." She grinned at him. "So . . . what next?"

Sheldon shrugged softly. "This is your night. We can continue to make love, or, if you're too tired -" He gasped as Amy wrapped her hand around him.

"Now, Sheldon," she started to move her hand in long strokes, "why do you think we wouldn't continue to make love?"

He groaned softly and pulled her in closer by her shoulders to kiss her deeply. All the while, Amy kept up her ministrations. Until he said, "Is that what you want?"

"What do you want?" she whispered back, giving a swipe across the tip just to hear him groan.

"No, it's your choice. Although, if you keep that up, you won't have one." He reached down to massage her posterior.

"Mmmm, I like that." But she let go of him, knowing that he was right. "I like this. Lying next to you, looking in your eyes. But I'd love you inside me, too."

Sheldon slid his hand down and gripped the back of her thigh, pulling her leg over his hip. "Well, let's do both."

Amy smiled. "No, that's not what I meant. I know this position is too much work for you."

"It's never too much work. And, between watching you earlier and what you were just doing, I don't think it will be work for very long. Here, help me."

She took him in her hand again, and shifted her legs some more, raising her self up, moving her arms some. They moved awkwardly in some sort of naughty Twister, and the thought made Amy giggle at the effort of it all. Sheldon gave her a sly grin back; but, when she succeeded in getting Sheldon where they wanted him, they both moaned in satisfaction.

"Sorry it's not very deep," he murmured into her hair, and she felt his body moving against her, working sideways to thrust into her.

"It's wonderful," she whispered back. And it was. It was almost like being teased again, every time he pulled back he brushed against her most sensitive spot again. She leaned in closer to him, pressing her breasts firmly against his shifting chest, resting her face in the crook of his neck, listening to him breathe. As much as she was enjoying it, she could hear the labor in his inhalations. "Tell me what you need."

"Just you." And, then, with one final thrust, he groaned and let go.

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	26. The Green Dress

**The Green Dress (_takes place after_ The Notebook)**

* * *

_"You look especially beautiful in your green dress."_

_Amy raised her head slightly. "Green dress? The one I wore to the conference earlier this year?"_

* * *

It happened suddenly, the downpour. Rain had been predicted, but downpours where not that common in L.A. Sheldon had no sooner strapped Ada into her carseat outside the restaurant and waved to Amy as they drove away then he was soaking wet. It hadn't helped that he had agreed to help drive his family and their mountains of luggage (as it seemed in the pouring rain) to the airport. Hadn't they driven around L.A. all week together in the rented minivan? Why did they need him now? Why hadn't he hid the fact he had his own car from them? Had their suitcases procreated in the hotel rooms?

So, cold and wet and annoyed, he had arrived home later than Amy. He was glad for her sake, that she hadn't had to deal with a squirmy one-year-old in the rain, and he knew they'd all be happier if Ada got a full nap. But he really wished Amy had been with him, to endure the hugs and the kisses and the head noogie while standing in the drop-off lane of LAX, which he was pretty sure was purgatory even without the storm.

The warmth and the dryness and the quietness of his home was all he wanted. But he was disappointed when he opened to the door that Amy wasn't there, waiting with a hot mug of tea. It had been his fantasy on the drive home. He took off his soaked jacket and draped it over the back of one of the dining chairs to dry. He glanced over at the chair in the corner of the office, the one Amy often sat in to read while Ada napped, but she wasn't there, lost in her book, as he had hoped.

He slipped off his wet shoes and padded down the hallway, peeking into Ada's room to confirm she was asleep, then he peered around the corner of the open door into his own bedroom. As he suspected, Amy was curled up on her side of the bed, the blankets pulled up tightly against her chin. He watched her for a moment before deciding he would join her.

Naps were not habit of his; Amy was much more likely to take a nap than him. He had too many other things he wanted to accomplish every day. But she looked so warm and quiet and peaceful. Taking off his pants, he debated whether he should get a set of pajamas out. What was the correct nap protocol? But, wanting to be as warm as possible, as soon as possible, he quickly took off his tie and dress shirt and lifted the covers to slide in next to Amy.

It was just as warm and as wonderful under the blankets as he imagined. He was pleased to discover that he had stumbled on the correct nap protocol, as Amy, too, was only wearing her underwear. He snuggled up close and wrapped an arm around her waist._ She is so warm!_

"Sheldon, you're freezing!" she yelped.

He snatched his arm away. "Sorry. I thought you were sleep."

"Not really. I was only dozing, listening for you to come in." She yawned and then reached back for his arm, pulling it around her again, rubbing it warm. "Why are you so cold?"

"It's still raining. And I had to stand outside in the rain at the airport while all the bags were unloaded and everyone insisted on good-bye rituals. You would think the rain would have prevented them. It was embarrassing."

Amy chuckled softly. "They love you and will miss you. Someday we'll be just as embarrassing with Ada, I'm sure."

"Speak for yourself." He nuzzled in closer. "Thank you for coming to brunch."

"Mmmm."

"You looked beautiful."

He heard her smile. "Were you surprised?"

"By you or by Ada?"

"Either."

"Both." He kissed her ear. He had been surprised when he arrived at the restaurant with his family. Not to see Amy - it was always the plan that she would join them - but to see her wearing that green dress he loved so much. And she had put Ada in the ruffled dress that she hated, and Sheldon was surprised at how adorable he thought it was. _Could my mother-in-law actually be right about something? _Of course, he had not voiced this opinion, although both his mother and sister emitted shrieks that pierced his eardrums. "Actually, the whole meal was pleasant surprise."

"Your family is more civilized than you give them credit for, Sheldon. It was lovely. Everyone was all dressed up and you got to have a birthday celebration for Ada on her actual birthday, just like you wanted."

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Wait, did you order the cupcake? For me?"

"Mmmm."

"You're amazing," he said, kissing her ear again. He thought about Amy sitting next to him at the table, laughing, the green dress he loved hugging her every voluptuous curve, dipping down to a V in the front, showing off her beautiful creamy skin. That dress was such a tease. One knot, one cord wrapped around her. She was like a gift, an emerald package of delight; he wanted to untie it very slowly, or maybe just loosen it so that he could slip one hand in beneath the fabric while the other grabbed her posterior. Maybe he would be sitting up, and she would be on his lap, her legs wrapped around her. Maybe they would be joined together but not really moving yet. It would probably be very erotic, he thought: her eyes twinkling in the same shade as that dress, his tongue in her mouth, his hand slipped into her dress to toy with her breast, his body in hers . . .

Amy batted his hand away from her hip, where it had been making circles in time with his daydream. She said softly, "Go to sleep, Sheldon."

* * *

**_AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	27. Chai Tea Latte

**Chai Tea Latte (_takes place after_ Irene Iddesleigh)**

* * *

_"By off schedule, I presume you mean by a margin of four minutes?" The line deepened on Amy's face._

_"Four minutes off schedule is still off schedule."_

_"If you are referencing the wait time in the drive-though line at Starbucks this morning, you could have gotten out of the car and walked the rest of the way to work. Or drove separately."_

* * *

_Damn chai tea latte!_

It was the strangest thing Amy had ever thought immediately post-coital. Sheldon had no sooner collapsed against her back, his chest damp and heaving, his hands relaxing their grip on her shoulders, his breath still panting in her ear, then she thought it.

Well, it was the truth. Without that spat about the latte this morning, none of this would have happened. It should have been inconsequential, a tiny thing soon forgiven and forgotten. But somehow it was like a paper cut, it smarted and festered all day, the pain out of proportion with the size of the injury. And then, this evening, she couldn't help but pick at it, poking and prodding when she knew she should be leaving it alone. How was it that every single thing he did this evening had grated against her? Every single thing that she could barely stand about him rose to the surface, a thousand tiny things that weren't important and that she had long since found the peace to ignore for the sake of the greater good and because she loved him so much. By now, she knew well that marrying someone was not just choosing the person to love for the rest of your life; it was also choosing the person that was going to drive you crazy for the rest of your life. But, hell!, he was so frustrating at times!

She didn't know which was worse: that she had picked, or that Sheldon had picked right back, or that they ended up here, like this. Doing the thing she swore they would never do. Or maybe the worst was there was a moment there, when he had almost-apologized for his Book Club selection. Because it wasn't really about the chai tea latte, was it? It was about his experiment on one of her favorite things. She could have accepted his timid regret, explained why she was upset and procured a promise that it wouldn't be repeated, and let the little wound heal. But she had not. That was the worst.

Sheldon rolled off of her onto his back and stared up the ceiling, never meeting her eyes. She could already see the welt raising on his shoulder. Amy relaxed and stretched her legs out behind her and reached up to rub her eyes, remembering exactly how they had ended up here.

They had changed for bed in stormy silence, and each had kept to their own side. Finally, Amy felt herself getting sleepy, and her feet, guided by instinct and custom, had sought the warmth of Sheldon's legs.

"Must you always put your frigid feet on me? It's like you have no circulation to your extremities."

The tension immediately returned. She rolled over quickly. "I wouldn't get cold if you didn't steal all the blankets."

Sheldon rolled over to face her with equal bitterness. "We just got into bed. The stripes on the comforter are still obviously vertical. No one has stole anything."

"Well, maybe you should go sleep on the couch so my feet won't touch you."

He sat up and looked down at her. "Maybe I will. And leave you and your precious blankets alone."

"Fine. Go." She propped herself up on her elbows so she could watch him leave.

"Woman!" And then his mouth was on hers, hard, pushing her back down. She didn't even remember being surprised. She remembered meeting it with equal force, one passion rapidly traded for another. Things happened quickly after that; the only pause came when she bit his shoulder.

"Amy!" he yelped. "That was not a love bite!"

"It wasn't meant to be," she replied, defiantly meeting his gaze.

And when he slapped her bottom it wasn't the playful smacks she loved; it was so painful it made her hiss. Somehow it only made her want it more. They hadn't even discussed it, it evolved naturally, this rarely used position. Sheldon had first introduced it when he was impatient and annoyed after a long flight. Thus it was always used to squeeze the frustration out, but never like this. The few times it had happened this way previously it was still a gift, one of them giving it to the other to help soothe the tension. But tonight had been different. They were both frustrated, maybe even angry, and all the "harders" and the "fasters" and even the hot burst of pleasure flowing from her core could not make it right.

Amy lay there for a long time, on her stomach, watching Sheldon watch the ceiling, listening to their breath slow and quiet, trying to ignore the sting from her rear. She was ashamed and disturbed that they found themselves here. They had just used this thing, this thing that was a always a beautiful celebration of their love, as a punishment. She waited to see what would happen next, until she knew nothing would happen unless one of them made a move.

She rolled on her side and was relieved that Sheldon immediately did the same. They looked at each other for a moment.

"Sheldon -" "Amy -"

She couldn't help but smile slightly and was even more relieved that Sheldon simultaneously did the same. She spoke again. "I'm sorry. That was . . ." She didn't even know how to verbalize it.

"I know. I'm sorry, too." He reached up to brush his fingers through her hair but caught a snag. "It's tangled. I must have . . . Do you want me to brush it?"

"No." Amy shook her head. "It's always tangled in the morning, anyway. I'll brush it then." There was another pause in which they just looked at each other. "How's your shoulder?"

"It will be fine. And your . . . bottom?"

"It's fine, too."

Sheldon nodded and silence fell again.

"We shouldn't do that," he finally said.

"Never. Not because we're angry or even frustrated with each other. I think . . . it's fine when one of us is frustrated with the world, with something outside this room."

"If you think it's just fine, we shouldn't do it for that, either."

Amy whispered, "Do you think it's just fine?"

"Do you?" he whispered back.

"Um," she felt her cheeks flush, "I think, in that situation, it's more than fine. Much more. It can be very . . . cathartic."

"Yes, I agree." He leaned in closer and kissed her forehead very gently.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon. I behaved appallingly all day. I don't know what got into me."

He shrugged. "You had a bad day. I'm sorry, I wasn't on my best behavior, either. And I experimented on Book Club without your knowledge. I should have never done that."

She nodded her acceptance of his apology.

"Amy?" Sheldon whispered again.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind rolling over on your stomach?"

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why?"

Sheldon licked his lips. "Well, one of the best parts about that particular . . . catharsis . . . is kissing between your shoulder blades. Which, since we went about this all wrong, I neglected to do."

Intrigued and baffled by this particular need for completion, Amy complied. Sheldon leaned over her, and, true to his word, tenderly laid a dry kiss between her shoulder blades. And then another one right next to it, a slow trail leading out, then following the ridge of her scapula. It was tactical, but it wasn't erotic. It was compassionate and chaste, nothing like the animalistic roughness in which they had just partaken. It was an unspoken expression of regret, and Amy felt herself relaxing beneath it, all her frustrations melting away.

Then Sheldon rested his forehead between her shoulder blades and murmured, "Oh, Amy. I love your feet. I can't fall sleep without them touching me."

With that, all was forgiven, all was forgotten.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	28. Sobriety

**Sobriety (_takes place after_ First Impressions)**

* * *

_"I'm just surprised. I thought I knew everything about you." She smiled, softly, and put her hand on his leg. "As I'm unlikely to have a pillow fight with Penny anytime soon, I'll just have to pry more of your secrets out of her at dinner tonight."_

_"There are no more secrets from you. I promise."_

* * *

After his animated Malcolm Reynolds Lego minifigure fell off the walkway and into the cargo bay for the third time, Sheldon realized he was too distracted to beat Niska's henchmen. He paused the video game and looked at his watch. 8:47 p.m. He thought Amy would be home by now.

He wasn't worried, per se. He knew where she was and what she was doing. Sighing, he knew he should have expected this. The ladies had rescheduled this particular pedicures-followed-by-Mexican-food outing at least three times already, so they would probably want to make the most of it while they could. And he had been so excited to finally get to sit down and play his new Lego _Firefly_ game without interruption. Ada had been put to bed, Amy was out, but . . .

Keys in the door! He lunged upright as the door swung open.

"Is everything all right?" he practically yelled.

Amy furrowed her brow. "Why are you shouting? Everything is fine."

"It's just that I thought you'd be home before now," he mumbled, chastised. Amy had every right to stay out at late as she liked. "Did you have a good time?"

Turning from sitting down her purse, she replied, "Oh yes! Except I had to endure Bernadette's road rage on the way back. I hope she has that baby soon, it's getting worse."

"You're the one who said you might need a designated driver. As you once explained to me, the pregnant female is socially obligated to fulfill that role." He watched her walk closer to him, and he was surprised at how quickly she had entered his personal space.

Just as he was about to hug her, which he assumed is what she wanted to sooth away the road rage, she put a palm on his chest and blurted out, "Sheldon Cooper, you lied today! There _is_ a secret you've kept from me!"

Sheldon started. How much alcohol did he smell on her breathe? And he successfully lied about something?

"Do you know what Penny told me?" Amy continued. "She told me you once had a goatee! Dr. Cooper, you've been holding out on me."

_Hmmmmm. _Did some form of alcohol make Amy angry? Usually it was horny. This was new. "It was before I met you, when I went to the Arctic to do research. I never brought it up because I don't see the value of facial hair to science."

She strained on her tiptoes to get closer to his ear. "Ohhhh, Dr. Cooper you're going to grow it again. Just think of where it will tickle." And then she purred._ Purred?_

Yes, definitely alcohol. Lots of alcohol. Sheldon frowned. Angry or horny? And how did that happen? She had gone out with a pregnant woman and a breastfeeding woman! It had been a long time since Amy had come home drunk. He assumed that motherhood had mellowed her.

"Amy, are you drunk? And how are you drunk? You went out with two woman who aren't drinking. Or, wait!, was Penny drinking? This seems like her doing. Did she pump and dump, as you like to call it?"

"I'm not drunk!" She protested by putting her hands on her hips. "It was a margarita or two. Sheldon, have you ever been out alone with one breastfeeding woman and one pregnant woman?"

"No. You know that."

"It's all mucus plugs and cervical ripening and hooter hiders. I needed some alcohol to get through it, to get my mind off of it."

"Uh . . . uh . . ." Sheldon was amazed to discover that just that single sentence made him want an alcoholic beverage, too.

Before he could formulate a reply, Amy started using her fingers to walk up his stomach and chest. "You know, Dr. Cooper, you could take my mind off anything you want tonight."

_Definitely horny. So not new._ "I think -"

"Come on. You know you want to," she purred (_purred!_) again.

Sheldon gulped. Sex with tipsy Amy could be a lot of fun. A lot. Sometimes she did this thing . . . Sex with drunk Amy, though, was completely off the table. He refused to make love to her in that condition; he wanted her to knowingly consent and to enjoy every moment of it. Tipsy or drunk? There was only one way to find out.

"Okay, little lady, I think it's time for Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test." Then he mumbled, "Patent pending."

"Ohhhhh, I've missed Dr. Sheldon Cooper's 21-Step Sobriety Test," Amy said, stepping away from him.

_Did her eyes just twinkle? _Sheldon shook his head. Surely not. _It's just the false brightness from the alcohol._

"Okay, step one," he said. "Turn 70 degrees toward your right and walk on the line created by the joint on the floor for three feet. Heel to toe."

Amy pivoted on her right foot and slowly but ably walked the seam in the wooden floor, heel to toe. It was only when she finished that she wobbled. _Hmmmm, what an odd time to wobble, when the hardest part was done._

"Step two: touch the tip of your nose first with your left index finger and then your right index finger."

She accomplished this task smoothly.

"Step three: stand on only your left leg for ten seconds."

Raising her arms for balance, Amy brought her right foot up to her left knee. Her back was to him, but he swore he heard her giggle slightly.

"Okay, walk over to me -"

"Heel to toe?" He thought he heard the giggle again.

"No, standard gait." She turned and complied, returning to stand in front of him again.

"Step four: follow my finger with your eyes while keeping your head still."

Sheldon raised his index finger and slowly moved it toward his right. Amy's eyes followed. He watched her pursuits carefully, how smoothly her eyes moved. He paused slightly at fifty degrees from her nose, but there was no tell-tale shudder in their movements. _Even at this angle, her eyes are so beautiful._

Suddenly, Amy glanced at him. "Yes, Dr. Cooper?"

"Nothing. Look back at my finger."

"Of course." She looked back at his finger and followed it in the opposite direction, but there was a grin playing at her mouth.

"Step five: how many fingers am I holding up?" Sheldon asked.

"Three." She giggled again, but it seemed . . . _what?_

"Step six: recite Ada's birth statistics."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "That's new."

"It's my test, I can change it whenever I want. In fact, I change it all the time so you won't memorize the correct responses."

"But I'm tipsy, remember?" Amy batted her eyelashes.

"Answer the question." Sheldon crossed his arms. _Drat! Her and those eyelashes!_

"Fine. Ada Fowler Cooper. Female. Born February 1, 2018 at 11:34 a.m. Eight pounds, ten ounces. Twenty-two and half inches long. All entirely your fault." She crossed her own arms.

"Amy, there is no room for commentary in the Sobriety Test. Besides, when you chose to procreate with this tall drink of Texan water, you knew exactly what you were going to be pushing down your birth canal. Step seven: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Amy's eyes went upwards as she thought. "Five. Three. Five. Six. Two. Nine. Five. One. Four. One. Point. Three."

Sheldon grunted in appreciation."Step eight: what are the titles of the two non-fiction travelogues that Charles Dickens wrote?"

"_American Notes_ and _Pictures from Italy_."

"Step nine: and they are . . .?"

"Overly wordy and the basis of a strongly worded letter to the president of your undergraduate college on what the foundation of a non-fiction language arts class should be. Namely, science texts."

Sheldon smiled softly at the memory. What a charming eleven-year old he had been! "Step ten: name the major elements in the visual pathway in humans, anterior to posterior."

"I presume you want me to start with when light is turned into electrical impulses?"

"Of course." _She is so sexy when she asks questions like that! _He shook the thought away. No, this was about whether or not Amy was mentally capable of making the decision to be intimate, not whether or not her responses were turning him on.

"That neuro-chemical reaction takes place in the retina. From there, the impulses travel through the optic nerve, meet and cross in the optic chiasm before continuing to travel down the optic tract to the lateral geniculate nucleus, then the optic radiations to the visual cortex located in the occipital lobe."

"Step eleven: In the board game Star Trek Catan, what resource cards are required to built a Federation outpost?"

"Sheldon, that's not fair, I've only played it twice!" She put her hands on her hips.

"Well, if you're too drunk to pass the test and reap the rewards, then-"

"One food, one dilithium, one tritanium, and one oxygen," she practically screamed it.

Feeling warmer than he'd care to admit, Sheldon took a step back and sat down in his spot.

"May I join you and sit also?" Amy asked.

Sheldon waved his hand over her empty cushion. Amy paused and then flopped down next to him, not in her usual lady-like fashion. It seemed . . . _deliberate? No, surely not. _"And that was step twelve."

Amy raised her eyebrows.

"It was a test to rule out tuberosity of the ischium or ischial bursitis."

"Neither of which is caused by or impacted by the consumption of alcoholic drinks alone. Perhaps if I were inebriated - which I'm not - I could possibly develop coccydynia by sitting down too quickly, perhaps a falter from a decrease in my motor skills."

"Hmmph," Sheldon crossed his arms. "It seems you discovered the hidden step thirteen."

She turned her head so sharply away from him that he was startled. It almost sounded like she was trying to squash a laugh. Sheldon cleared his throat. "Step fourteen: What occupation was Chaucer engaged in when he wrote his major works, including _The Canterbury Tales_?"

Amy turned back around, the brightness in her eyes almost dancing. "That's easy. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you just want this to be over."

He shifted uncomfortably in his spot. "If that's your method of forfeiture, it could stand to be more explicit."

_No! Wrong word choice, wrong word choice!_ Amy's lips curled up in a devilish smile, and she reached for the top button of her blouse. "You want it explicit, do you?"

"No, not like that." _Yes, exactly like that. _He croaked, "Just answer the question."

Amy dropped her hands but narrowed her eyes slightly. "Customs comptroller for London."

"Step fifteen: how many strings are on a traditional orchestral harp?"

"Forty-seven." The smirk returned. "I have to say, Sheldon, it's seems that you're losing your touch. This particular test seems awfully simple . . . "

_Drat._ It was just that her twinkling eyes and pleasantly flushed cheeks were making it so difficult to be . . . difficult. _Maybe If I ask her something that only I should know? _"Step sixteen: what is Spock's mother's maiden name?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "Easy. Amanda."

"Ah ha!" he thrust his index finger up in triumph. "Her full name! You got it wrong!"

"You never said her full name," Amy snapped back.

"Yes, I di - oh." Sheldon's shoulders deflated. What was wrong with him? Why did he forget such an important detail? Because of what exactly what was wrong with him. He shifted once again. "Okay, step seventeen: what was I wearing the day we met?"

"A gray tee shirt with superheroes over a purple long sleeve tee shirt and plaid pants."

"Superheroes? Just superheroes? It was Justice League 2 shirt with the rarely-seen superheroes Red Tornado, Martian Manhunter, Firestorm, and -"

"Dr. Fate. The irony is not lost on me."

Sheldon licked his lips. Amy knew the names the superheroes on an old tee shirt he lost in the fire. Amy knew the names of the rarely-seen members of Justice League 2. Amy knew about Dr. Fate. Amy knew -

"Oh! I remember! Grayson!" She actually clapped at glee with this statement, and Sheldon jerked in his spot.

"What?" he asked.

"Spock's mother's maiden name." Amy furrowed her brow. "Hmmm, you seem distracted . . ."

"Not at all. But since you came up with her last name, I suppose I'll give that to you as step eighteen."

Amy covered her mouth, but Sheldon knew she was grinning, maybe even on the verge of laughter. Well, he'd show her that he knew just how to tax her memory! "Step nineteen: recite our Book Club specifics."

"Really?" The smile had disappeared. "That's a little vague, don't you think?"

Sheldon shrugged. "If it's too vague for your inebriated brain, then I guess . . ."

"The full name of the Book Club is the Fowler Cooper Publication Federation. The first meeting was on September 30, 2014. We read _A Natural History of Dragons_ by Marie Brennan. To date, there have been twenty-nine Books Clubs. Is that what you want?"

"Just keep talking. I'll tell you when you've passed." _Because I like watching your lips move_. He shook his head sharply to dislodge that thought.

"Hmmmph. Fine. You didn't want to discuss the first book because you thought it was too much like discussing your own feelings, and you thought there weren't enough dragons. I thought the book's strongest point was its excellent use of tone and syntax." She paused and Sheldon made a turning motion with his hand to imply she should continue. He knew he was in trouble the minute the smirk returned. "You also attempted to flirt with me by raising one eyebrow. You thought it would get you out of discussing the book. Instead, it back fired and you became so focused on your physical action that you inadvertently agreed to a bimonthly book club."

"I wasn't flirting!"

"Oh really?" Amy raised one her own eyebrows. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I have an IQ of 187. I am perfectly aware of when I'm flirting."

"Tell that to your eyebrow."

Sheldon smacked his hand against his forehead to push the unruly ridge of hairs back into place. Amy grinned at him without subterfuge this time. _I need to save this test. _He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. "Step twenty: recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards!"

Her eyes widened slightly, but the grin stayed in place. "You're repeating yourself, Dr. Cooper."

"Good. That was the correct response to my trick question. Now, the final step, step twenty-one: actually do it. Recite pi to the tenth decimal point, backwards."

Her grin settled into the naughtiest of smirks. "Five." But is came out as fiivvveee, all hot air and humidity. "Three." Her over enunciation led to the tip of her pink tongue flashing at him. "Fiivvveee." Like she was singing a sultry song at a summer garden party. "Six." Hissing and leaning closer to him. "Two." Her lips pouting as they encircled the strong T sound. "Nine." She left her mouth gapping a bit at the end, and she leaned even closer. "Fiiivvveee." Closer. "One." Sharp and fast, a staccato sound. And closer. "Four." She put a palm on his chest to steady herself as she inched ever nearer. "One." Almost a whine this time. Closer. "Point." The end was a sharp barb. He had to lean back now, she was so close to him. "Three." It came out with an almost-moan, her mouth so near to his he could taste her hot breath.

He gulped and barely whispered "Tipsy" before her mouth was on his. It was on her lips: the alcohol, the salt from the tortilla chips, the desire. Oh, the desire.

Amy attacked him over and over again with rapid, eager, smacking kisses. He could barely keep up with her, his lips in a constant state of puckering, pressing, falling back. "Amy," he at last managed, "should we move this into the bedroom?"

"We could," kiss, "but then," kiss, "this may be," kiss, "one of the," kiss, "last times," kiss, "we can," kiss, "have sex," kiss, "in your spot." Kiss.

_Oh, God, she is so sexy when she is so logical._ He grabbed the sides her head, burying his hands in her hair, stopping her from kissing him again. "Wait, I have a confession to make. I knew you weren't drunk after the horizontal nystagmus test. I just like to listen to you recite all those random facts."

"I purposely wobbled at the end of the straight line test so you'd keep asking." Amy slipped her hands under his tee shirts and raked her fingers through his patch of spare chest hair. "I know what turns you on. Fiivvveee . . ."

* * *

_**AN: Thank you for your patience; I hope it was worth the wait. And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	29. Secrets

**Secrets (_takes place after_ Easters of the Dead)**

* * *

_Sheldon wrinkled his brow. What was happening here? "Amy, I thought -"_

_"Oh, Sheldon, I- I-" She covered her mouth and shook her head at him, vehemently, her eyes wide._

_"Will one of you tell me what is going on?" said the voice from the phone._

_"Sheldon thought he was already dead! That's what is going on!" Amy yelled and then ran from the room, down the hallway._

* * *

The bedroom door was open, but it was dark inside. Sheldon stepped into the doorway. "Amy?"

He heard a whimper. He reached over to turn on the light, and Amy was opposite of him, huddled in the corner, on the floor. When the light came on, she shielded her eyes. She looked, he thought, like a terrified wild animal.

"Amy?" he asked again, softer this time. She didn't move. He walked over to the corner. "Amy?" No reply again, the upper half of her face still behind her hands. He crouched down and put his hands on her shoulders. Amy curled away from him, turning her body so her face was against the wall. "Amy, come here," he tried to say it as gently as he could.

"You're angry. You're very angry. I heard you shouting. Don't touch me, you're angry with me."

Sheldon closed his eyes involuntarily and sharply sucked in his breath. _Why would Amy say that? Does she really think I would ever . . ._ He shuddered. He couldn't even think the words.

"No, I'm not angry with you. I'm confused. And even if I were angry with you, you know I would never hurt you. Please, I don't know what to do." He sat down on the floor behind her, careful not to touch her. "I'm frightened, too."

She looked up then, turning her her head to look at him. "Oh, Sheldon, that's not what I meant. I've never been frightened of you. Just another example of what a horrible person I am, letting you believe something else that isn't true." Putting her head down again, a sob came out.

"Amy." Sheldon squeezed in closer. He barely put his arms around her shoulders, not wanting to alarm her further; instead of resisting, she sank back into him. He pulled her in closer, her back to his chest, and he kissed the top of her head. He wrapped his arms tight around her shoulders, which suddenly felt so frail to him. "It's okay now. Let it all out."

He rocked with her while she sobbed, great raking sobs, tears and snot falling onto his arms that crossed in front of her. If it had been anyone other than Amy or Ada, he could not have done it, endured it. But she had once held him this way, when he didn't think he deserved it, and it was the least he could do in return. At last, her sobs started to quiet. He kissed her hair again. "I'm going to go get a washcloth. I'll be right back."

Amy nodded, and he let her go. He washed his arms, running the water in the sink until it was warm, then wrung out the washcloth so it wouldn't drip.

"Here," he said, returning with it, "let me do it." Sheldon washed her face gently, and then dried it with the same tenderness. "Better?" he asked. She nodded again, but then shivered. "Are you cold?"

She didn't answer, but the chattering of her teeth gave her away. "I think you may be experiencing a little bit of shock. Here, come with me." He stood and took her hand. Leading her to the bed, he pulled the blankets down. "Get in." He reached down and took off her shoes before she lay down. Kicking off his own shoes, he crawled in next to her, covering them with the blankets, even their heads. He rubbed her arms quickly. "Better?"

"Yes," she whispered, shivering against him.

"Can you talk about it?" he asked. "I wish - I think . . . I need to hear what you have to say."

"I'm so sorry, Sheldon, I know what you think, and I don't blame you for being angry -"

"Shhh, not that. I'm not angry with you. As I said, I'm confused." He took a deep breath. "I was shouting at your mother. She said you thought your father was dead, and she let you believe it. Is that the truth?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I don't remember exactly how it started," Amy wailed, the treat of more sobbing in her voice.

Sheldon moved closer, so their faces were very close in the weird half-light seeping in through the blankets. He placed his palm along the edge of her face. "It's okay, it's okay. Just tell me what happened. Start wherever you want."

Amy took a deep shaky breath, no doubt from her recent crying jag, but no further sobs escaped. "I never knew my father. I don't even know his name. Mother would never say." She paused and looked at him, questioning.

"Go on. It's okay if I already know it. Just tell me however you need to tell me."

Amy nodded and turned her head slightly, seemingly looking somewhere over his shoulder. "Before I went to school, Aunt Flora came to stay with me every day while Mother went to school; she was finishing her degree, you know. And then she went to work at the newspaper. I don't remember what I thought then. I had Barbie dolls and Ken dolls, and I remember playing they were married, but I don't remember if I thought that was strange or not. As you know, I didn't go to kindergarten; Mother didn't want me to go to school until I had to. Something about peer pressure, I think. But Flora taught me everything you learn in kindergarten. She taught me to read, too. She was always telling me how bright I was. And beautiful."

"She was a wise woman," Sheldon whispered.

Amy didn't smile, but she glanced up at his eyes and he saw a glimmer of the promise of a future smile there. "When I did go to first grade, I was an outsider immediately. I hadn't been there for kindergarten so I didn't know anyone, I was dressed like a porcelain doll in frilly dresses, and I already knew how to read. This was when reading was taught in first grade. Do you remember that?"

"Yes and no. I wasn't in first grade very long."

"Oh, right. Anyway, as you know, they wanted to advance me, too, but Mother wouldn't let me. So, because I could read already, I read silently, by myself, while the teacher taught everyone else to read. That was the year I first read _The Secret Garden _and_ The Little Princess_. I loved them both, I was crazy about them. In both of them, the girl is an orphan. I thought that's maybe what I was. A few kids in my class had parents who were divorced; for a while I thought my parents are divorced, but I asked Mother and she got angry. She told me it was a inappropriate question, of course she wasn't divorced. So then I latched onto this idea that I was an orphan, that my parents were dead. That my real parents were beautiful and cool and would let me dress like the other kids. I asked Flora if I was adopted - I knew not to ask Mother again - and she told me no, that Mother was my real mother. I asked her if my father was dead, and she told me to ask Mother. I kept asking, but Aunt Flora wouldn't say and I think that convinced me. Finally, I got the nerve up to ask Mother. I think I said 'my father is dead, isn't he?' but I'm not sure exactly how I phrased it. But I do remember what she said. She said 'he's dead to us.' I didn't know the difference then, I was six. But now I see how it was all my fault. I asked the question wrong, I took her answer too literally. I wanted to be in a book so badly, I thought it could be like _The Little Princess_, that everyone thought my father was dead but then he would come rescue me."

"Amy, you just said you were six. You didn't know."

"But I should have!" She weakly pounded a fist against Sheldon's chest. "You would have! I was a gifted child, I should have been able to think about it properly, I should have reached the correct conclusion. Or asked more questions."

Sheldon shrugged. "I don't know what I would have done. Maybe I would have asked more questions. But I was always encouraged to ask more questions. Pop-Pop and MeeMaw always encouraged my curiosity. Your mother . . . " He stopped. It would not be helpful to bring up his opinions of Amy's mother right now. "Is that the last time you and your mother talked about it? When you were six?"

"Yes. No. Sort of. When I was in fourth grade, there was a huge argument."

"Between you and your mother?"

Amy shook her head. "No, between Mother and Aunt Flora. About me. That year, they would separate the boys from the girls and the girls would be shown a film about getting your period. But your parents had to give permission. Of course, my mother didn't, and I was the only girl sitting alone in the library. I knew all about it, of course, not from my mother but from recess chatter. I knew about sex and the whole thing. The basics, at least. Well, and a great deal of misinformation, too. Anyway, Flora asked about my day when I got home from school and for some reason I told her how embarrassed I had been to be left out. Flora stayed for dinner that night, which was unusual. It was horrible meal. I could feel all this tension in the room, and I didn't entirely understand it. Now, when I think about it, I think Flora was just waiting, and I think Mother knew what was going to happen. But nothing happened until I went to bed. Then I heard shouting from the kitchen, and I went to sit on the stairs to eavesdrop. I don't have your memory, I don't remember all the words, but Flora was mad at Mother because she didn't let me go see the movie. Mother said something about the less I knew about that part of my body the better, and then Flora said something about that just leads to girls thinking they're dying when they have their first period." Amy passed sharply and looked straight into Sheldon's eyes. "I'm sorry, is this too much detail for you? And about that?"

"Um, well, it's not the trajectory I anticipated for this story, but go on. I want to hear it because it's important to you," Sheldon said.

"Anyway, they kept fighting and then Flora said something about that if she didn't tell me about sex, I'd make the same mistake that Mother had, and I'd give my body to the first man who even looked at it. They were yelling at the top of their lungs. I had never heard anything like it. You know my mother, she's so worried about appearances and doing things for property's sake. She's never, ever yelled at me like that. She just frowns and manages to look at me like I'm the most disappointing thing she'd ever seen . . ."

Amy stopped talking, and, for a moment, Sheldon thought she was going to start crying again, he thought he could see the tears welling up in her eyes again. He smoothed his hand down and back up her arm.

She took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. "The next part I remember clearly, because I never knew that Flora was getting paid to take care of me. Mother said, 'You may be my aunt, but we both know that you're also an employee and I can fire you.' Then Flora said, 'But you're not the one signing my checks, are you?' Then Mother said, 'Don't you ever mention him in this house again.' Flora left after that. She slammed the door so loudly the house shook. I ran back to bed. She didn't come back for two weeks. Mother told me she was on vacation, and I was to go to our neighbor's house when I got home from school. I hated it there."

Amy stopped talking again. Sheldon wondered what she was thinking, if she was thinking about Aunt Flora. He had not known Aunt Flora well at all; by the time he had met her, she was so very ill and then she passed away. But he had always assumed her love for Amy was unconditional, just like his MeeMaw's had been for him. But what if it wasn't? Was Amy thinking that, too?

"But Flora came back," Sheldon prompted. "Did you ask her about it? The fight? Did you ask about the checks?"

Shaking her head, Amy continued. "No. I'd get in trouble for eavesdropping; and I didn't even put it all together then. I think I was in shock about the whole thing. It wasn't long after that Mother sat me down and talked to me about my period. To be fair, she was honest and answered all my questions. Now, I realize that it was extremely uncomfortable for her to do that, because of how uptight she is. I'm surprised Flora wasn't sent to do it. Mother even told me about sex. I pretended I didn't know anything. I thought maybe she'd finally tell me about my father if I acted innocent. But she didn't. She just talked about how a woman's virginity is the most important thing she will ever own, and it's only meant to be given to one's husband. That giving it up before marriage was a sin and lead to a life of hardship. So I asked her when she had gotten married, and she told me she never had. That's how she knew it was sin and a hardship, because she'd been living with it. I thought she meant me, that I was the sin. I guess I was, sort of."

"Oh, Amy," Sheldon reached up and brushed her hair. "I didn't know you ever thought that."

There was a very weak shrug from Amy. "I didn't ask about him again. Or anything else, really, about her past. Not for a long time. Our relationship was really bad after that, for a few years. I guess I just didn't care about what had happened to her, all I could think about was how angry I was with her. It was the worst age for that to happen. I would refuse to do things to spite her. It's when she started bribing me, making deals to get me to do things. I threw myself into science, because my mother preferred the humanities. I insisted on harp lessons, because Mother doesn't like the harp, she thinks it's indecent to straddle something like that. If it weren't for Aunt Flora trying to keep us calm, I don't know what would have happened."

Another pause came, and then it stretched out between them. Sheldon waited for Amy to pick up the story again, but she just kept looking over his shoulder, staring at something he could not see or understand. "You seem at peace with her now. I know you're not close, but you seem . . . okay, I guess."

"It got better after I went away to Harvard. What a series of fights we had about that! She wanted me to stay close to home. I don't know what happened, but one day she changed her mind. Just like that. Anyway, the day before we left for Massachusetts, she sat me down and talked to me again about my virginity is a gift. She had been telling me every week for years. But this time she told me how she met my father, how young freshman girls were naive, how men used flattery, I don't even remember it all. But it's the first I learned he had been her professor, that he was married but she didn't realize it, she didn't even think about it because she was so enamored or whatever." Amy sighed. "I'm sorry, this is boring you. I just realized, saying it like this, it doesn't even seem real. It seems like a soap opera or something. A 1950s morality play, not something that would have happened in 1980. Even my mother, she seems trapped in another time."

"But it did." Sheldon said softly. He had never thought about Amy's mother being out of time. His own mother was so morally strict, he assumed that was the state of mothers everywhere. "Did your mother ever say what happened to him, your father?"

"No. She just said it ended badly, that he couldn't be a part of our lives and she didn't want to talk about it again."

"Did you ask?"

Amy closed her eyes for what seemed a long time. Sheldon waited. Finally, when she opened them, he saw they were wet with tears. She whispered, "I think I knew. I think I've always known. I just didn't want to admit it. And I'm so ashamed I did the same thing I hated my mother for doing, I let you believe it, too. Because it was easier. Because it didn't hurt as much. Because having a dead father is tragic, yes, but not in the same way. Because, at least if he was dead it wasn't because of me. Because if he were alive, wouldn't he want to know me? Why didn't he want me? Why didn't my mother want me? Nobody wanted me."

She closed her eyes again, and Sheldon reached up to brush the tear off of her nose. "I wanted you, Amy. I'll always want you."

Pulling her in close, holding her tight, he let her cry again, this time gently.

* * *

The new whiteboards had been Amy's Christmas gift. They were floor-to-ceiling boards, hung on tracks so that they could slide in front of the bookshelves. They both gave Sheldon more space than he'd ever had to work, and they hid some of the more unsightly contents of the shelves.

But that Saturday morning, three days after Amy's revelation, he stood in front of the expanse of white, not having a single thing to compute. Rather, he had too much to compute. Amy was gone, she had left him to go see her mother. He had offered to come with her, even though his mother-in-law's house was on his top five list of most dreaded destinations; but she had said no, this was something she had to do alone. He couldn't help but think of her, curious what she was thinking on the drive, what would happen between them.

Sheldon looked over and down at Ada, playing contentedly on the floor. She had two of her little dolls in her hands, and they were very clearly having some sort of conversation. He could hear jabbering all morning, only making out the occasional word. This filled him with pride: his little_ homo novus_, already giving science lectures that she just didn't know the words for yet. Amy said she was telling stories, but Sheldon was certain he knew better.

Then he frowned. Was Ada content? Granted, they had had their usual early Saturday morning television and cuddle time, before Amy had gotten up. But did she know she was . . . wanted? That she has been longed for, created with desire, anxiously awaited, loved from the very first second she had noisily entered their lives?

"Ada?" he said, crouching down to her level.

She looked up at him, and, in the both gangly and incredibly limber way of toddlers, she was standing and rushing toward him almost instantly.

"Daddy!" she cried, putting her arms out to him, still clutching her toys, her face the same unabashed joy he had seen so often on Amy's face. Sheldon pulled her in close for a tight hug.

Work was hopeless now. "Would you like to spend all day playing with Daddy today?"

Ada pulled back and nodded rapidly.

Sheldon grinned at her. "Would you like to go the park?"

"Yes!"

"Let's go. But first -" he gripped her arm as she started to turn "- remember the new rule: you have to use the toilet - I mean, the potty - before we leave to go anywhere. Because we most certainly are not using the public restroom at the park."

She swirled away from him, already scampering toward the bathroom. Once that was finished, other preparations were completed, his usual messenger bag replaced with Ada's bag, and all the straps on the stroller were secured.

At the park, he swung her gently and sighed softly. Amy was right. There could be no denying it the sunlight: Ada's hair was lightening. It was already lighter than Amy's, which he hated, and in the brightness of morning there was a copper glint. Just like his mother-in-law's. It didn't seem fair to him in the least.

"Higher, Daddy!"

Welcoming the interruption to his thoughts, Sheldon said, "Do you know that if I just push you higher that only increases your kinetic energy? But if you learn to pump your legs, you will raise the overall center of mass of your body, effectively raising the height of your sw-"

"Higher!"

No stranger to a strong command issued by the females in his life, he pushed higher, and he grinned at her squeals. When they quieted, he slowed the swing until it stopped, and then he walked around to the front to raise the safety bar. "See, Ada, physics is fun!"

"P-sics is fun," she repeated, stumbling over the new word.

Sheldon picked her up and kissed her cheek. "My little genius. Let's go home and practice, so that you can enunciate clearly when your mother comes back."

Pleased with the distraction his daughter was providing him, Sheldon had considered staying longer, but his fear of the public restroom won. It was probably better to get home sooner rather than later. At home, he tried to get Ada interested in her new set of Duplos, the one he had been saving for when she was the recommend eighteen months of age, but she was more interested in trying to start a tea party with him. Drinking pretend tea from a tiny wooden cup, Sheldon was suddenly surprised to find how much he was enjoying this fractured, nonsensical half-conversation and fake food with her. It had snuck up on him, this joy: here he was, doing one of those things he had once told Amy he was afraid of, and it wasn't driving him crazy. What a strange week it was turning out to be: a week off work, doing something he had dreaded but then turned out to be both successful and for the best; a carefully plotted and executed plan that contrasted with Amy's surprise upheaval. And yet, in the midst of that disruption to their calm lives, there was still Ada to tie them down, the stability she required in her life providing him with the constancy he also craved.

Later, after lunch, he decided to introduce her to one of his favorite things. He held her in his spot while he read the newest issue of Amy's _Agent Carter_ comic book aloud to her. Ada seemed to greatly enjoy this activity; she didn't seem as distracted as she was earlier during the Duplo phase of the day, and she constantly pointed out pictures to ask "What's that?" Then, as the story progressed, she fell silent and then she fell asleep against his chest. He looked down at her long eyelashes and wondered how it was possible that someone could ever have one of these wonderful creatures and not want it.

After Ada was put in her crib, his thoughts turned to Amy. Having such a wonderful day bonding with his daughter only made him feel worse for his wife, who never experienced the joys of reading with her father. Before long, he found himself pacing. At last, Amy's key turned in the door.

"Amy, you're home!" He lunged at her, hugging her, and he was pleased to feel her return it after her initial surprise. "Tea or cocoa?"

"Tea will be fine," she said. He took that as a good sign. She hung up her purse, while he put the kettle on.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. He wanted to tell her about his day with Ada, and the new phrase they had practiced, but he would save that for later.

She nodded and sat down at the island. "She doesn't hate you, if that's what you're worried about."

"I've never been worried about that."

Amy smiled. "She actually asked me to give you this." Amy slid an envelope across the counter to him.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows and started to open it. "What does it say?"

"I don't know. It's still sealed."

Sheldon opened it and read the monogramed notecard.

_Dear Sheldon,_  
_I apologize for my behavior during our phone conversation earlier this week. You had every right to be angry. I realize now, far too late, that you really are the best thing for Amy. I heard fierce protection in your words that night. I know that my daughter and granddaughter are safe with you and loved by you. I have lived long enough to know the importance of those things. I sincerely hope we can begin again._  
_Yours truly,_  
_Cynthia Fowler_

The kettle started to whistle behind him just as he finished, and he passed the note to Amy to read as he busied himself making tea.

"I think she's sincere, Sheldon, I really do," Amy said, putting it down.

"I don't know why, but I do, too," he said, passing her a mug. "Was she contrite with you? You deserve a much larger apology that can be contained on any stationary."

His wife nodded. "Yes. I'm glad I went to see her. It's not perfect. Our relationship will never be perfect, I know. Maybe not even happy. But it's . . . a start." She paused. "I think she was - maybe still is - angry at herself, ashamed of herself. She's such an intelligent woman, and she feels like she forgot herself for a few weeks and then had to live with it for the rest of her life . . . " Amy took a deep breath, and Sheldon waited for her to continue. "In her mind, she thought she was protecting me. Because she knew my father would never be involved in my life, so she thought the less expectations I had about him, the less I knew about him, the easier it would be for me. But she told me she didn't expect it to be so hard. Not motherhood only, but . . . she said she sees a lot of him in me, and that's been very hard."

"But that's not your fault," Sheldon said, protesting softly. He thought of Ada, who still looked so much like him, except for her changing hair. How much he had wanted her to look like Amy, but genetics had a different plan. Only sometimes, certain expressions on her face reminded him of Amy.

"I know, but I can sort of understand. When I look at Ada and I see you . . . for me, it's a happy feeling, but if you weren't you . . . I'm not saying I think it was the correct way to handle the situation, but . . . I can see that." She shrugged softly. "He was a scientist, too, a professor of chemistry. He spoke fluent German. He played the violin. You were right, he paid for Harvard; he went there. And Flora's salary, of course. Money for my clothes, too, and the harp lessons. They never spoke again. Mother would get the checks in the mail from his secretary. Sometimes Mother would call her to ask her to relay to a message, but the answer always came from the secretary."

While she spoke, Sheldon walked around the island to sit next to her. "Did you ask her? Are there . . . do you have any siblings?"

Amy shook her head. "She really doesn't think so. There aren't any children listed in his obituary, so none with his wife. She gave me a copy; it's long, he was very distinguished in his field. Do you want to read it?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Yes." Amy pulled the folded clipping out of her blazer pocket. She carefully opened it on the counter between them, pressing it flat. Sheldon was startled by the picture. It was an older picture, of a young man, but his smile, that wry smile . . . It was smile Sheldon knew well.

He looked over at Amy. "Would you like to read it to me?"

"Very much." And she started to read.

* * *

_**AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	30. The Game

**The Game (_takes place a few nights after_ William Shakespeare's Star Wars)**

* * *

_She paused and bit her lip slightly. "I miss our games, too."_

_"You played games with the girls?" Sheldon asked. "Oh, drinking games?"_

_"No, not drinking games. We're not freshman with fakes IDs," Amy huffed. Then she dropped her eyes slightly. "I meant . . . you and I . . . our games. You know," she shrugged, "when I'm Nurse Chapel or River Song or something."_

* * *

He stood against the wall of the hallway, in the dark, waiting for her. He liked listening to Amy read the story, her voice soft and low. Sheldon couldn't make out all the words, but he liked hearing the rising and falling of her intonations. Twice, there was a second voice, higher, sharper, the pitch coming up at the end in a question. Ada. He smiled. She was so curious, and her vocabulary was exploding, at least a new word every day now. He had told Amy it was like she was a word monster, and she was eating words alive. Amy had laughed deeply at that, that laugh that made her eyes twinkle and her neck arch . . .

The creaking of the rocking chair, some shuffling, a few firm but loving sounds; he knew there was probably a soft kiss on Ada's hair. Then Amy was at the door, her hand on the light switch.

"Sheldon?" she whispered, shutting the door behind her.

"All is well?" he asked. "And you have nothing else that you absolutely must do this evening?"

Amy's brow furrowed. "Well, there is some laundry to fold. We probably shouldn't let it set in the dryer or it will wrinkle."

"Done. While you were giving Ada her bath." He reached out for her hands and pulled her in closer, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "How about a game?"

"Mmmmmm," Amy's voice murmured against his face. "What did you have in mind?"

"Something new. Come with me." Sheldon stood up straight, not letting go of her hands, and pulled her gently into their bedroom. He only dropped a hand to shut the door behind them. Then he waved his free hand toward the bed. "Behold."

"Chess?" There was surprise in her voice. He expected it. They played chess fairly regularly; not as much as they did before Ada, of course, but some evenings they would play a game. So the presence of the chess board in the middle of the bed, while not the usual location, was also not entirely new.

Looking at the scene he had arranged, he explained, "Strip chess, Dr. Fowler. Every time I take one your pieces, you take take off an article of clothing."

A deep, throaty sound of approval came from Amy. He had made the right decision. Amy mentioned, during Book Club, games they had previously played. But he knew his wife: she liked to be surprised, and she liked to try new things. She asked, "But what if I win?"

He turned his head to look down at her with a raised eyebrow. "As I'll be naked, I don't think I'll be in a position to argue with your terms of surrender."

Amy looked up at him, her eyes ablaze. "Oh, it will be unconditional."

"I should hope so." He tugged gently at her hand. "Shall we?"

His wife giggled like a school girl and practically skipped toward the bed, sitting gently on her side, careful not to upset the board. He took his own side. "Can we make an agreement that our shoes will be the first to go?"

"Yes," Amy said. "I see that I'm white."

"Ladies first."

"That's always the best bedroom etiquette," she said, surveying the board.

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. Yes, he should have expected some verbal sparring from Amy as well. He was already worried about his ability to concentrate on the game with his wife gradually wearing less clothing, but now he saw she was going to attack him on more than one front. _Clever, clever, Amy._

She moved a pawn forward. "Are we announcing?"

"If you want." He moved a pawn. White pawn, black pawn. The opening moves would go quickly, he knew. Neither of them were announcing yet, maybe they wouldn't. Amy was concentrating deeply on the board, though; that probably did not bode well for his chances -

"I take your pawn at d5," she said calmly, lifting his defeated little piece off the board.

How did that happen? So quickly? She hadn't even spoken, but she still managed to distract him!

"Don't look so surprised, Sheldon," she smirked. "I said unconditional." The she sighed. "I'm regretting the shoes first agreement now."

Smiling back, Sheldon turned around to untie and drop a shoe to the floor. He turned back around.

"No, both," Amy said, shaking her head.

"But they are two separate things!" he protested.

"No, they're a pair of things. Like a pair of pants or a pair of underwear. And it's impossible not to take those off in their entirety."

How was it possible she was fully dressed and still managed to look so naughty?

"That's because a pair of pants and a pair of underwear are misnomers," Sheldon said.

"I was promised naked when I defeat you. Get cracking," Amy said.

Sheldon turned back around quickly, both to remove his other shoe and to hide his smile.

"Okay, where were we?" he asked when he turned back to the board, rubbing his hands together. No more distractions. Feeling bold, he took her pawn with his king.

He had expected her to gasp at his sudden, decisive move. Or at least say something sarcastic. But, no, she silently twisted so that she could stretch her legs out on the bed. Slowly, she ran her hand down her hip, her knee, her thigh, the curve of her calve, her ankle . . . Sheldon watched her repeat the actions on her other leg, and he had to swallow. _Oh dear. And they're just shoes!_

Amy's face betrayed nothing as she turned back to the board and moved another pawn. His knight, her knight. His bishop, her bishop. His pawn, her pawn. The silence, the tension, it was already killing him. Then she castled! Amy, generally, was not a big fan of castling. She was stepping outside of her usual playbook tonight. He called his other knight into the fray. She brought in another bishop. Ah, she was thinking too far ahead! He took one of her pawns with his. He saw her eyebrows go up slightly. _Gotcha!_

"Requests, Dr. Cooper?" she said with a smile.

He just waved his hand. Amy reached up to the top button of her cardigan. Slowly, she released it. Then the next. He watched her fingertips, the way she gently caressed each button before she grasped it, how smoothly she slid it into the . . . _did she always undress this way? _No, surely not, he would have noticed before. But each button became an exercise in an erotic metaphor. Sheldon felt very warm. He knew, even though he was watching her hands, that she was staring at him. Then, at last!, the buttons were done. Slowly, she slid one sleeve off her arm and then the other. She held the cardigan away from her.

"Like this?" she asked coyly as she dropped it on the floor. "Is that what you meant by stripping?"

"It was acceptable," he managed to croak.

"Maybe you could give me a demonstration," she said suddenly, as her hand shot back to the board to capture one of his pawns.

Sighing, he shifted to take off his socks.

"That wasn't very sexy," Amy said, her voice pouting.

"They're socks. Socks are not sexy by definition. Neither are feet," he said, turning back around.

"Well, you know what they say about men with long feet . . ." she let her voice trail off as she wiggled her eyebrows.

His heart pounding slightly, he ignored it. She was just trying to antagonize him into losing. He may have let her believe he was going to be naked by the end of this, but he was still determined to win. After all, to the victor went the spoils. He moved his second bishop. She moved a pawn in too close for comfort. He moved his bishop away. Her knight moved closer. His king backed away. She chased him with her knight, and his king retreated again. Amy was playing very aggressively.

Too aggressively. Just as she moved her white knight to e5, he saw his opening. He took her bishop with his own. He met her eyes over the board, his hand still gripping her piece. "Tights," he instructed.

Her green eyes met his definitely. She seemed to be seriously considering whether or not to comply. Then she surprised him by getting off the bed and standing next to it, instead of turning around to remove them as he expected. She reached up under her skirt, pulling it up, and tugged on the waistband of her tights. For a second, Sheldon saw a flash of her underwear. _Oh, help me, it's leopard print day._ She put a foot up on the bed and slowly rolled one leg down, the other pulling down with it. Her foot arched as she stepped out, her red (_red!_) toenails flashing. Then the other leg, even more unhurried than the first, and it was even sexier without the tugging of the other leg in the way. Her skirt still pulled up, her beautiful, creamy, curvy legs . . .

Then she was back, surveying the board again as though nothing had just happened. As though she unrolled her stockings like that everyday, dripping seduction.

"Hmm, where was I?" she mumbled, tapping her lips with her index finger. "Oh, yes, this."

Before he knew what had happened, his bishop was gone. "Pants," she ordered.

"But, Amy . . ." he whispered, knowing just how exposed he would be after her little performance.

"Pants."

_Why is this so embarrassing? _he wondered as he stood and turned away from her. The cooler air hit his legs. Amy had seen this hundreds of times. Seven hundred and forty-five. Not that he was keeping count or anything. He turned around, and the corners of Amy's lips turned up.

"Hush," he said. "It's not funny. It's a purely biological response to -"

"No, it's the goal, Dr. Cooper," she cooed. "You know, I wouldn't think you were any less of a man if you just wanted to concede defect. It's one of the arts of war, knowing when you've been bested by a superior opponent."

"I've not been bested! No matter what it looks like!"

"Prove it," she said with a knowing smirk.

The challenge in her voice was almost as bad watching her remove her tights. His underwear strained further. Rapidly, he castled. It was actually one his favorite moves, the only time it was legal to move two pieces on the board at the same time. He liked the efficiency. Amy moved a rook. He moved a rook. She moved a bishop. Sheldon moved a bishop. She took his knight.

Sheldon groaned. "I suppose you'll say my tee shirts are a pair of things, too."

Amy screwed up her lips in contemplation. "No, I'm feeling generous toward the weaker army. Just one will be fine."

He separated the hems of his tee shirts and lifted the outer shirt over his head. _Get it together, Cooper!_ _It may be a sex competition, but it's still a competition!_ He threw the shirt onto the floor.

Feeling vindictive, he swiftly took revenge on the bishop that had just taken his knight. But Amy didn't seem bothered in the least. She just smiled and stood, reaching for the button on her skirt.

"No -" Sheldon put out a hand "- your blouse."

Amy raised her eyebrows, but moved her hands up to the top button of her blouse. He knew he would never win with Amy's beautiful, full hips and leopard print panties winking at him. Even though he was certain of what she was about to do, and he didn't want to watch, he couldn't tear his eyes away. Again with the caressing, her fingers encircling the edge each button before she guided it . . . and was she humming?_ This is hopeless._ He shifted uncomfortably on his side of the bed.

Sitting back down, leaning over the board far more than he thought was necessary, her round breasts heaving over the cups of her bra, Sheldon wondered why he ever thought that would be less distracting. He was still watching the line of her cleavage when Amy moved a piece. Startled, he looked back down at the board. It took him a second of memory recall to realize she had moved her knight. Away from him. Was she feeling intimidated now? Sheldon moved a rook. And she took his last remaining bishop with a knight! She wasn't feeling intimidated, she was calculating all along!

Maybe he gapped at the board for a bit too long because Amy asked, gently, "Sheldon?"

He shook his head. "I know." He reached down and lifted off his blue undershirt. How had this happened? How did Amy still have three articles of clothing and he was left hiding - not very well - in only his underpants? Wait a minute! "Amy, it just occurred to me this game is skewed in your favor. You have one additional article of clothing."

"Ah, it just occurred to you, did it?" she asked, her smirk having returned. "I guess you'll have to work harder -" he saw her eyes flick downward, which did not help at all - " to even the odds."

Quickly, he took her knight. "Like that?"

"That will do," she smiled. She stood and unbuttoned her skirt. She took so much time with the zipper, Sheldon thought the sound might be the ripping of his determination to see this game through and not just take her immediately. Then she had the nerve to actually shimmy out of her skirt, kicking back her leg at the end to send it flying away from her.

Sheldon groaned and shut his eyes. He was never going to make it to the end of this game. He no longer felt like he was at war with Amy's chess pieces, he felt like he was at war with himself. He wanted - no, needed - to complete this game, but he wanted - oh, how he wanted! - to have his way with those leopard print panties!

Amy got back on to the bed and sat cross legged across from him. He looked up at the ceiling and let out a deep, long breath.

"Yes, Sheldon?" she asked.

"Nothing," he lowered his head, determined to look only at her twinkling eyes and no further. "Your move."

White rook. Black pawn. White king. Black king. White pawn. Sheldon saw his opening and took it; he attacked her pawn with his rook.

"Well played, Dr. Cooper. The odds are now even." She reached behind her and unhooked her bra. But she didn't let it fall. She used one arm to press the cups in place as she lowered one strap. Then she switched arms and repeated the action on the other side. Now, just holding her bra in place, she said, "Maybe some music?"

Before Sheldon could ask exactly what she meant by that, she said cooed, "Bow chicka wow wow."

Then her bra was flung off her chest and she actually twirled it, swinging it above her head in the air, before throwing it across the room and over his head. Sheldon put his head down into his hands and took a deep Kuliner breath. He heard a rustling on the bed, and he jumped when Amy's fingers lightly touched his arm.

"Sheldon? Are you alright? Do you want to stop? I was trying to make it fun, it's what I thought you wanted. But maybe this is too much for you."

Putting his hands down, he looked into her beautiful green eyes, flecked with worry. "I'm sorry, I do want it to be fun. And . . . parts of it are. I don't know what's wrong with me. We've been doing this for almost five years now, and I'm acting like I'm seeing you naked for the first time. I can't decide what to do. I want to finish the game. But I want to make love to you. I think this was a bad idea. I can't complete both at the same time."

Amy smiled softly. "Yes, you can."

"I can? How?"

"Like this." Then, carefully, she picked up the board and the pieces and gently placed them on the floor beside the bed.

"Amy, I fail to see how -"

"Shhhhh," she whispered, coming up close to him again. "Use that big, beautiful mind of yours." She rubbed her hand along his hip, and hooked her thumb finger under the waistband of his white briefs. "White rook takes black rook at d5."

Sheldon watched her with wonder as he leaned back to allow her to remove his underwear. Oh, how he loved this woman! It was so simple, so obvious, with her showing him the way.

"Black pawn takes white rook at d5," he said as she crawled over him, and he slid his hands into her panties, squeezing her bottom before pushing them down her hips.

Amy barely touched his lips, whispering, "White pawn moves to b3."

He kissed her back, harder, trying to push his gratitude into her. Finally, he broke it. "Black queen moves to h8."

Rubbing his nipples, she said, "White king takes black pawn at b6."

"Black rook moves to g8," Sheldon moaned.

Amy learned down to rub her chest against his, and he could feel her erect nipples tracing his own. "White king to c5."

"Black pawn to d4." He pulled her face down and kissed her deeply, stroking her tongue with his own. She rewarded him with a deep moan before pulling away, turning her head, rushing through the words, "White knight to d6," before she kissed him deeply again.

"Black pawn to f4." A series of gentle kisses along her jaw.

Sheldon gasped when she grasped him. "White knight takes black pawn at b7."

Groaning, he said, "Black knight to e5."

She "White" sucked "king" on "to" his "d5" earlobe.

"Black pawn to f3," he almost screamed, batting her hand away from his arousal. "That's too much." This whole sexy chess game was turning him on so much, he couldn't take much more from Amy or it would be over too soon, and long before she got her checkmate.

"Sorry. White pawn to g3."

He gently but firmly gripped her shoulders and rolled her over on her back. "Black knight to d3."

"White rook to c7," Amy replied, pushing his hand down where she wanted it.

"I believe that's my move," Sheldon whispered.

"Well, then, take it."

"Black rook to e8." He teased her, running his fingertips through her wiry hairs.

"Pleassseee" she begged.

"Let me in," he whispered back, putting his head down to kiss and suck on her breasts.

"Ohhh, white knight to d6."

"Black rook to e1." He slipped his fingers deep inside of her. "All the way across the board."

Amy moaned, long and low. "Queen to h2."

"Oh, the queen is on the move, is she?" he brought his thumb in, to knead where she liked to be touched. He watched her, the way her neck and back arched, her stomach contracted. He watched for a quite awhile before he spoke. "Black knight to f2."

"White - knight - to - I -don't - know - f7," Amy barely managed to get out.

"Black queen -" he leaned closer to her and pressed harder with his index finger "- at g7."

"Yes, yes!" Amy screamed. Sheldon smiled deeply, watching her, listening to her. It was as though her whole body elongated when her climax took her, as she stretched out beneath him. Once she opened her eyes again, he kissed her softly. "White always goes first."

Amy smiled and stroked his hair. "White knight to g5."

Sheldon moved over her, resting his legs between hers. "Black queen to h6."

"White rook to h7," Amy answered, drawing him in.

"Oh, Amy," he moaned and kissed her, chess almost forgotten in this, this feeling, this love for her. He enjoyed loving her for a while, the way their breath was coming in unison, when it occurred to him the game was at a stalemate, there were no more winning moves.

Amy reached for his face and kissed him softly. "Sheldon," she murmured into his lips.

With that, he knew he had already lost. He had already surrendered. Unconditionally. To Amy. Except it felt exactly like winning. He brushed her cheek with his own and whispered, "Amy . . . my queen."

* * *

_**AN: I have not advertised this fact, but the truth is I will take suggestions for After Dark along with book suggestions for Book Club. Tonight's After Dark is brought to you by a suggestion from AnotherBritFan, who thought perhaps a game of chess as foreplay might suit our Shamy. I'm not sure it worked out like any of us planned (myself included), but here it is. Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	31. The Time Traveler's Wife

**The Time Traveler's Wife (_takes place after_ The Time Traveler's Wife)**

* * *

_He preferred to imagine it her way. He could even see it in his mind, this other version of themselves. He was standing with a time machine, perhaps something silver and sleek, shimmering as it was ready to depart. One foot would be inside, in his past, one foot would still be on the ground just outside the door, in the present. He would put out his hand toward her, toward his future. She would probably be surprised, frightened, trepidatious. But she would take his hand and follow him. Of course she would. It would be an adventure._

* * *

He kissed her cheek gently, then her temple. "I did want you. Almost as much as I want you right now." His kissed her earlobe, and then, without warning, Amelia felt a surge course through her as Cooper's mouth surrounded it, his tongue swirling.

"Hoooooot." Her back arched and she could feel Cooper's lips turn up in a smile, the little sound he gave out, even though he didn't stop what he was doing. His hand, which had been holding her cheek, started to meander slowly down her neck, slipping under the very edge of blankets, resting on the bare skin of her chest, just above the scandalously low neckline of the flimsy nightgown.

He stopped. "You're trembling."

Amelia didn't know if she was trembling from fear or desire or a mixture of both. The feel of his breath in her ear, his hot palm on her décolletage, goose bumps rising on her flesh, the pulsing deep within her. It felt so overwhelming, and all of these sensations were only heightened by his declaration of craving for her. She was craving him, too, in every sense of the word. She had been craving him for as long as she could remember, long before she knew him.

She turned her head to gaze upon his beautiful porcelain skin. "I want you, too. Then. And now. I'm just - it's overwhelming."

"Amelia," he whispered softly, his lips barely grazing hers once more, "please don't be frightened. I love you, and I only want to make you feel good. Let yourself be overwhelmed. I want you to think of the place you love the most on Earth, a place where time feels meaningless. I want to you shut your eyes and think of that place. And then I want to take you there. Just me, just us, no time machine. I want to be there with you. Will you let me take you there?"

Her heart ached at the palpable love in his voice. She looked into his beautiful blue eyes and knew, as she had known for so long, that she as never safer than with him. Amelia nodded and closed her eyes. She felt his soft, nimble hand slip slowly beneath to neckline of her nightgown. She exhaled softly and thought of the place she loved the most.

Cooper slowly traced every edge and plain of her face with his lips. Amelia relaxed into his touch, only to arch off the bed again when his fingertips made contact with one of her nipples. She had not expected that, not really. But this must have been the touching anywhere that Penelope had warned her about.

"Does that feel good?" he whispered in her ear.

"Oh, yes," she exhaled softly. Then Cooper kissed her again, firmer this time, not waiting very long before his tongue asked for access to her mouth. She gave it freely, swirling in the sensations of his kiss and the soft flicks and caresses of her breast.

He broke awake suddenly. "Amelia, can we take off this silly little nightgown?"

"But Penelope said you would like it."

Cooper started to pull the blankets down. "First of all, don't ever say her name in this bed again. And, secondly," the blankets were gone now, the cooler air rushing over Amelia's skin, "I like it very much." Amelia saw Cooper's eyes rake down and then back up her body, back to her face. "You're so beautiful."

Certain she was blushing down to the tips of her toes, Amelia dared to ask, "Did you peek? That night I took the bath?"

"Uh-huh, I won't tell. A hero never tells," he said with a grin. He gently grabbed the hem of the negligee, which was scandalously high upon her thigh, and started to lift it up. Amelia sat up, and let him slowly raise it over and past her outstretched arms.

"Much better," he whispered, tossing it aside and pushing her back with another hungry kiss. Then his lips started to trail down her neck and across her collarbones. She felt like her skin was on fire. As his lips continued their slow decent, they started to veer toward one side and crossed the edge of her breast.

"Are you going to kiss me there?" Amelia asked.

She heard a chuckle. "I'm going to kiss you in places you've never imagined being kissed before." But then he stopped, and she looked down to meet his eyes. "Amelia, I want you to tell me if you don't like something. That's very important. But remember what I said: let me overwhelm you."

Amelia nodded to him and put her head back on the pillow. She took another soft breath and closed her eyes again. The slow parade of kisses continued a bit more until something hot and wet ripped through her senses.

"Oh, God," she murmured, and then slapped her hand over her month, embarrassed both by her outburst and her cursing. Cooper's hand gently pulled it away. His mouth left her nipple, and the cold air upon the wet surface was almost as breathtaking as his tongue there had been.

"I want to hear you," he whispered before putting his head down again and continued what he was doing. Her body seemed to have a will of its own, and she found her lungs heaving and her back raising on the bed. It only became more pronounced as Cooper's mouth progressed further down her stomach. He started to push her legs apart, and her heartbeat increased.

"Cooper, what - What! Oh, my God!" The last cognizant thought she had was, 'No, _this_ had to be what Penelope was talking about.'

It was indescribable. She both wanted to fight it and welcome it with open arms. He had found this secret spot that she did not know she even possessed until recently, during a certain bath. But this was nothing like the bath. This was the bath amplified beyond her imagination. He was lapping at her like a gentle tide, but it was growing stronger every second. She felt what could only be described as a tightening sensation, in her neck, in her stomach, in legs, and especially . . . well, there. Even the soles of her feet started to tingle. And then, suddenly, after a second of stillness it felt like she had been thrown into the ocean, a hot, rushing ocean of pleasure. She had been reduced to pure sensation. She thought maybe she was screaming and shuddering, somewhere far away from the bliss.

He had waited quietly, coming back up to hold her, until the shivering died away. "Did you find that pleasurable? Did it overwhelm you?"

"I didn't know it was possible. Not like that," Amelia answered, turning slightly to look at him. She felt like she was in a daze.

Cooper kissed her, and she felt his fingers slip in to her private space once more. "Are you going to do again?" she breathed into the kiss.

Smiling as his lips pulled away, Cooper said. "I would do it a thousand times if I thought either one of us could withstand it." His smile faded slightly. "Amelia, I want to put my fingers inside of you. I don't want to frighten you."

"Oh," Amelia said softly. She was well beyond being surprised by anything Cooper was doing to her.

Then she felt him invade her. It felt . . . odd. She flinched.

"Am I hurting you?" Cooper asked.

"No. It just feels . . . strange."

His finger started to move within her, further in and then back out. "How is that?"

"It's . . . strange."

Then his hand moved slightly, and she was aware that he had added another finger. "Is that better?"

"It's . . . uh . . . fine."

"I aim for better than fine."

This time when he pulled his fingers out, Amelia had the new sensation that he was pressing on her somewhere, deep inside, somewhere near the front of her. He repeated the action, the in motion, the pressing movement out.

"Ohhhh," she exhaled.

"Good?" he whispered in her ear.

It was getting better by the second. There was a spot there that when he slid and pressed against it felt amazing. "Very good."

The spiraling, the tightness, it was starting again, but not exactly the same. Just as she realized it might happen again, he suddenly pulled his hand away. "I'm sorry, Amelia. Looking at you, hearing you you make all those sounds . . . I'm going to put the condom on now. Remember, we talked about this?"

Amelia nodded and watched him turn away, toward the side of the bed, his back to her. She heard the ripping of the package. What was he apologizing for? Should she ask? Before she could work up the courage, there was a flash of movement, and Cooper was over her, resting on his elbows, his slim body between her legs. She had never seen him move so quickly before.

"Amelia? I'll try to be as gentle as I can. I promise. Try to breathe out slowly."

Her heart hammering in her chest, she forced herself to release the breath she didn't realize she had been holding. His reached down between then and then she felt a strong pushing sensation. She couldn't believe how deeply he was pushing into her. There was some burning, yes, but it was not nearly as painful as she had expected. Despite that, she couldn't help but let out a surprised, "Oh!"

"I'm sorry," Cooper whispered, kissing her cheek. "Are you alright?"

The way he was looking down at her, concern etched on his face, his pupils large, the bright blue rings surrounding them . . . Amelia was better than alright. She placed a hand softly upon his shoulder. "I'm . . . well. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be be."

He smiled and it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen on his face. Then she saw his shoulders flex as he pulled out, slowly, and then moved back in to where he had been. "Good?"

"Yes."

"Actually," another slow movement, "I want even better than good." He brought his hand down again, to touch her again. She jerked at the touch. "Too sensitive?" he asked.

"No. I mean, I don't think so. I just didn't expect that."

His only reply was that smile, again, and then he started stroking her there, matching each stroke with the movement inside of her. This time, she could see him, above her, watching her, when the whirling sensation started again. She was able to focus on him, the way he was looking at her, how heavy he was panting, how his muscles flexed and tensed in his arm and his shoulder. She concentrated on his eyes, which he occasionally squeezed shut, and she was able to remember what he had said, about a place where time was meaningless. It was here, it was now. It was her, it was him, it was this feeling, this mixing of their bodies and their souls, staring deeply into his eyes, feeling her body respond to him. They could go anywhere, anywhen, but a part of them would always be in this time, this juncture, this season, this epoch. Here, they were together, ageless and forever loved. Then infinity came rushing at Amelia again, just as Cooper let out deep groan that sounded like her name.

* * *

Amy jerked with a gasp, her breath coming in sharp pants, her leg flinging out to kick her sleeping husband. Fully awake, her body fully aroused, she put her hand to her chest, her heart thumping within.

Sheldon's eyes popped open and almost immediately he spoke, lifting his head from his pillow, sounding concerned, "Amy? Nightmare?"

She shook her head. "No. A sex dream."

"Mmmmmm," Sheldon relaxed and put an arm out to pull her in closer. "I presume I excelled, as usual," he murmured, shutting his eyes again.

"It wasn't you," Amy answered.

"What?" He was completely awake now. "Was it Thor? I always knew he was trouble."

"No, it wasn't Thor." Amy smiled. "But it wasn't me, either, not really. I had the strangest dream. It was me, but my name was Amelia; and it was you, but you were a time traveling physicist. I was a virgin, and you were experienced. I dreamt it was our first time together, that you were sharing your sexual knowledge with me."

Sheldon's eyebrows raised. "Again, was I any good? Did I use my knowledge for the betterment of womankind?"

Amy chuckled. "Maybe."

"Mmmmm." He closed his eyes with a satisfied sound.

Amy snuggled in closer to him, his arm still slung around her shoulders, and took a deep breath of him. She looked at his profile, his eyes closed, in the darkness of midnight. What a strange dream it had been. There was no denying it had been thrilling, both physically and emotionally. It was the beginning of something, and here she was, snuggled warmly in the middle of something else. Her adventure had been different than that other-self; she and Sheldon had learned everything together, but it was no less of an adventure.

"Sheldon?" she whispered.

"Hmmmm?" he opened his eyes.

"I love you. I wouldn't trade you, this, everything we've had together for all the adventures in the world."

"I love you, too." This time it was not a sleep mumble, it was hot breath in her ear. "Tell me all about it. The dream. I want to know every minute detail. And visual aids are essential to a thorough understanding."

"Sheldon Cooper!" Amy giggled, enjoying the feel of his hand running along her rib cage as he rolled toward her. "Are you trying to get into my time machine for a second time tonight?"

"It must be a time warp. Oh, Amelia, let's repeat history!" he said just before he silenced her laugh with a deep kiss.

* * *

_**Surprise! Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	32. Big Girl

**Big Girl (_takes place concurrent with _The Curious Incident of the Dog in Night-Time)**

* * *

_Suddenly, unexpectedly, he leaned down to swoop Ada up and carried her, still kicking and screaming down the hall. Amy gasped in shock. The ear-splitting howls got quieter, but probably because they were only getting further away; she heard the rumble of Sheldon's ice, and then the door to Ada's bedroom shut. Amy took a couple of tentative steps into the living room, when Sheldon rounded the corner from the hallway._

_"What was that?" she asked._

_"I decided I've had enough. Ignoring is not working. She needs to learn her actions have consequences. I told her that if she cannot control herself, then she can go to bed alone without a story." He had started his explanation with surety, but his voice shrank as he continued talking. By the time he shrugged at the end, it was a resigned shrug._

* * *

She didn't understand. She was having fun doing shapes with Daddy. She loved shapes with Daddy. Why did she have to stop and go to bed? She wasn't tired. Shapes with Daddy was more fun. She just wanted Mama and Daddy to understand how much she'd rather do shapes. But then Daddy had picked her up and carried her to bed. He told her that if she could not control herself, then she could go to bed alone without a story. But she loved the stories! They were her favorite! Why couldn't she have both shapes with Daddy and stories? It was too hard to ask when she was crying. Daddy said controlling herself meant not screaming and crying and kicking, but using her words. If she used her words, Mama and Daddy would understand her. He said Mama and Daddy didn't speak screaming. Then he said he was leaving her alone to think.

Ada didn't mean to make Daddy unhappy. She always knew when Daddy was unhappy. He had an unhappy voice, deeper than usual. Mama frowned when she was unhappy, but sometimes she tried to hide it, so it was harder to tell.

Maybe Daddy was unhappy because of The Schedule. Daddy loved The Schedule. The Schedule had Always Been. Ada did not understand why, but she usually liked The Schedule, too. The Schedule felt comfortable, like her favorite shirt with the unicorn on it. The Schedule was rhythmic. The Schedule helped her fall asleep. The Schedule reassured her that food was coming. But The Schedule said there would be a story. The story was the best part of the day.

Right now, the story was long. It was about a girl named Laura who lived in a little house in a big woods. The story did not end before bed. Mama said it was a chapter story, one of her favorites. Ada almost cried the first night, because she didn't understand, because she wanted the end of the story. But Mama said no, there would be one chapter each night. Then Daddy came in his unhappy voice and told her not to whine, it would teach her patience. Ada repeated the word, "patience," because she didn't understand it and she wanted Daddy to talk about it. She liked it when Daddy talked about things. Then Mama and Daddy had smiled but it was that smile they only smiled at each other. Then Daddy had said patience was endurance under difficult circumstances. She wasn't sure what that meant either, but Daddy's unhappy voice was gone as he kept talking and she was so very sleepy . . .

Ada wanted to know what happened to the girl named Laura. They had just killed a pig to eat it. Ada already knew about that because at school they had talked about farms and they sang a song about Old McDonald Had a Farm. In school, her teacher still read them books with pictures. Laura's story only had a few pictures. Ada liked Laura's story but she wanted it to have pictures, too. Her favorite books were when the words and the pictures were one.

Daddy took her to see where Uncle Stuart worked sometimes. Daddy said work was like school for grown-ups. There were books there, but not like the books Mama read to her. In these books the words and the pictures were one. Daddy liked those books, and he read them to her sometimes. He even bought her own book like that. But why weren't the pictures and the words always one?

This was very confusing to Ada. Jacob told her books with pictures were for babies. But Daddy liked books with pictures. Why couldn't she like them too? Jacob was fun, and she liked to play with him. But sometimes he was mean and told her she was a baby. But she knew what a baby was, a baby was like Fenny or Lucy. She wasn't a baby. She knew she wasn't a baby because Mama had said once she used the potty all the time, even if she woke up in the middle of the night, she would be a big girl. And she had been doing that for a long time now. Mama and Daddy had even given her a big girl bed.

Last time she saw Jacob he was mean and bossy. He told her all her puzzles were baby puzzles. Ada said they were not! Jacob said they would have a race and the last person to finish a puzzle was the baby. He picked the puzzle of monkeys and gave her the puzzle of robots. He took all of the pieces out and mixed them together on the floor. "Ready, set, go!"

Ada finished her puzzle first, but then she didn't understand what happened. Jacob started to cry, and Aunt Bernadette had to hold him. All her other aunts and uncles stopped talking and just looked at their food. They must have been very hungry, which Ada didn't understand because they had been eating for a long time already. Then Aunt Bernadette told Jacob it wasn't a real race.

"It was too a race! I won!" Ada had said. She didn't understand, and she felt like maybe she was going to have to get on the floor again and kick to show everyone that she didn't understand.

But then Mama picked her up instead and whispered, "Now is not the time, sweetheart. Jacob is sad, and we don't make people feel more sad than they already are."

Mama squeezed her tight, and Ada liked it when Mama held her close. Mama was soft and warm. She didn't understand why Mama didn't want her to talk about it, but Mama had made it so that she didn't want to get on the floor and kick anymore. Then Daddy winked at her over Mama's shoulder, so she knew it was a real race and she knew she won and she knew she wasn't a baby.

Daddy. Daddy was picking her up, but it was too hard to open her eyes to look at him. Then she was back in bed again, but warmer. Daddy had put the blankets on her. Daddy smelled like soap.

Then she was riding a unicorn through the big woods and Wonder Girl was with her and all the trees looked like the shapes Daddy had told her about and there were words floating like clouds and she loved it when the shapes and the words were one and she was so very happy. . .

* * *

Ada will remember none of this. As her mother had once wisely pointed out, her hippocampus and amygdala will not be fully developed for at least another year, and those parts of the brain are vital for memory storage.

However, her first impression will stay with her always. It is vague, short, intense, more of a feeling than an event. There is a field of white. There are shapes. She knows the names of the shapes. Daddy is speaking. Mama is smiling. There is the feeling. The feeling, like The Schedule, has Always Been, too. She is Loved.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews! They really do mean the world to me.**_


	33. Book Club

**Book Club (_takes place after_ Mrs. Dalloway)**

* * *

_"Our stories always have better endings," Sheldon said._

* * *

First, there is Book Club. There are words, phrases, passages rolling off the tongue. There are surprises accented by raised eyebrows, irony accented by quiet chuckles. There are smiles of agreement, head shakes of disagreement. Ideas are put forth tentatively or forcefully. There are similes and symbolism. Thoughts are stirred, hearts are inflamed.

Afterwards, there is often calm. There is cuddling on the couch, watching something together. Or there is silently working at their partners desk, across from each other, faces half-hidden by computer screens. Or there are preparations for the next day: Ada's lunch is packed, the dishwasher is ran, clothes are folded. Thoughts are silently sorted, sifted, new ideas mentioned by the other are pondered. The heart burns ever brighter.

Then, at the appointed time, there is the unspoken ritual of bedtime. Lights are turned down, electronics are put to sleep, it is confirmed the door is locked. There is standing next to each other, each person at their respective sink, brushing their teeth. Privacy in the bathroom is given. Clothes are removed. The words and feelings of Book Club linger, the heart is combustable, and, almost always, their bodies are not recovered.

It is almost never discussed. In the dark now, there are small movements, rolling toward one another, soft touches, gentle kisses; the silent asking and giving of consent. The taste of mint on the tongue, the feel of broad shoulders, the depths of freed hair.

It deepens. Necks are arched, pulses are felt through lips. Erect nipples are teased, taunted. Ticklish bellies shy away from fingers. Bodies are wrapped in embraces. Even in the blackness of night, eyes sparkle and twinkle. Breathing quickens, shallows.

There are the very depths of her. A topography he knows well. Hot, wet, intoxicating. There is stroking or sometimes swirling. Holding her close, listening to her every sound, the way the air catches in her throat on the way in, the way it starts coming out with just a hint of a moan behind it. At some point, she will lick her lips. A dam of feeling is released, the sounds come louder, quicker now, the mewing of pleasure. Her body will curve repeatedly toward him, pushing herself closer to what she wants. And then it will happen: crying, clawing, clamping, maybe an "Oh! Yes!"

For a moment, all is still. There is a gentle kiss somewhere: the cheek, the forehead, the top of her hair. A strong arm around her soft shoulders. The heart beat slows, but only slightly. Recovery but also the anticipation of more.

There is the zenith of him. A landscape she knows well. Warm, velvety, potent. There is gripping, squeezing, rubbing, sometimes swiping across the peak. Staying close to him, listening to his every sound, the way the air stumbles on the way into his lungs, the ways it starts coming out deeper, in a groan. At some point, he clutches her tightly and whispers, "That's enough."

For a second, there is indecision. No, too brief even for that word. There is a spark, a flash, and something is decided. Pillows are hastily arranged. No time is given for the heart beat to slow. Not recovery, just the hot lightening of passion. Eagerness and hunger.

He is long, lean, angular, sharp. She is smaller, rounder, softer, comprised of curves. And, yet, when she straddles him and takes him in, the congruence cannot be denied. They were made for each other. They are two halves of a whole. Every time, something between a gasp and a moan escapes their lips at the same time. A refrain of thanksgiving.

There is movement, the shifting of muscle beneath skin. There is the leaning, the tilting. Her hair and her breasts fall forward, and he is bewitched all over again. He rubs his palms along her thighs, her hips, her buttocks, and she is possessed by him once more. He rises up to meet her, she presses into him. She sets the pace, and it moves quickly, easily, slick and sliding. Everything is perfect: the heat, the sounds, the angle of where their pelvises meet. Their lips join in a frenzy, pulling, sucking.

Because of the angle, it happens together, the pulsing, the stiffening. Once again, she cries out, her mouth forming a perfect O, her body flushing. His head tilts back, his upper lip curls, a deep groan of pleasure escapes his lips.

She falls against him, their sweating chests heaving together. He wraps her in a hug, and she kisses the dampness of his neck. This time, something new happens. The words will make Sheldon raise his eyebrows in surprise before squeezing Amy tighter in tacit agreement.

"Book Club sex is so hot."

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	34. An Affair of the Mind

**An Affair of the Mind (_takes place after_ The Remains of the Day)**

* * *

_Amy chuckled. "But, as for the book, you're correct. There were no outward signs of romantic or sexual attraction. I think their love grew from an affair of the mind. They were friends first, in very similar professions so they could discuss that common ground , they enjoyed each other's company at the end of the day, over a hot beverage . . ." Amy lifted her mug of tea up in a mini-salute and then took a drink._

* * *

His hair. It was slightly darker than hers. Thicker. Coarser, also, but not coarse. It was best, she thought, in the few days prior to his hair cut, when there was more of it. The dark color contrasted with his blue eyes beautifully. If the position was such that she could, Amy often liked to run her fingers through Sheldon's hair when they made love. She liked to feel it, smooth it over his head, his brain. Something so delicate covering something so important.

Because of where her hands were, he knew what would happen. When she took her fast, sharp breaths, just before releasing her first cry, Sheldon knew she would squeeze his head as her body was squeezed by pleasure. He could not help but smile. It would be firm, determined, almost too tight. He will be caught in her vise grip of joy.

It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the aching clenching of her thighs and buttocks. Even as she twisted ever more, her body ached for the sudden valve of surrender. She knew it was close, it had to be or she would die before she got there. She ran her fingers through his hair, this one sure thing outside of herself, the only thing other than her body she could feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before it burst upon her. Release. She could not help it, she pressed, her fingertips finding the nodules and bumps and divots she knew well. In the whirlwind of pleasure, that essential part of him was there, too. His brain, his big, beautiful, bulbous brain. The first thing she ever loved about him.

He moved his hand away and leaned his face even closer to hers, to kiss her softly along her zygomatic arch. The edges of her lips were curled up slightly into a smile, but the type of smile that one gives when one has a secret. Too soon, she stopped pressing on his head and opened her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she whispered, out of breath.

"For what?" he whispered back, shifting above her, aligning himself.

"I shouldn't do that. Squeeze your head so hard."

"Shhhh," he soothed into a soft kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." Tomorrow, it will occur to him that was a hippy-dippy thing to say. But at that moment, all he wanted was to lower himself into her, and he lowered his face, also, close to her hair.

Her hair. Lighter, thinner than his. It was best, he thought, early in the morning, when it fell full around her face. But in the evenings, too, it was wonderful, when it fanned out behind her head, so glossy and polished, like a halo. If the position was such that he could, Sheldon almost always liked to rest his face somewhere close to Amy's hair when they made love. He loved to catch the last whispers of the scent of her shampoo, the way it encircled her head, her brain. Something so diaphanous covering something so important.

Because of where his face is, she knew what would happen. There would a moment, so brief it could be missed, just before releasing his groan; Amy knew he would take a deep breath close to her ear, close to her hair. She could not help but smile. It would be greedy, determined, almost too strange a sound. She will hear him taking a memory of her.

It was almost unbearable, the tightness, the feeling of being caught, surrounded by something so wonderful. Even as he drove ever further toward her, his body ached to find the end. He knew it was close, it had to be or he would perish, right there inside of her. He managed to gently touch her hair with his lips, this one sure thing outside of themselves, one more wonderful part of her body he wanted to feel in that moment. There was a split second pause in the universe before he poured into her. A surge. He could not help it, he took her scent just as his cheek crashed into her temple, finding the aroma and sensations he knew well. In the vortex of satisfaction, that essential part of her was there, too. Her brain, her memories, her monumental, magnificent brain. The first thing he ever loved about her.

She ran her fingertips down along his spine and held him closer as he relaxed against her. She could not see him, but she could feel his breath, still hot and panting in her ear. His fingertips were still wrapped in her hair, just as his body was still wrapped by hers. Too soon, he lifted his head and looked at her.

"I think it's my turn to apologize," he whispered.

"For what?" she replied, carefully stretching her legs out so as not to lose him.

"I shouldn't pull your hair there and put so much pressure on your scar. It might be painful."

"It's not," she hushed into a gentle kiss. "I like it. It's like you're making love to my mind." She managed not to giggle, knowing how embarrassed he will be by that naked, sentimental comment tomorrow.

* * *

_**AN: This is a not-apology for the length of the last two **_**After Dark**_** chapters. I let **_**After Dark**_** take me where it will, of its of volition, and sometimes it gives me an essay and sometimes it gives me un amuse-bouche.**_

_**As always, thank you for your reviews!**_


	35. The Usual, Revisited

**The Usual, Revisited (_takes place after_ The Joy Luck Club)**

* * *

_Amy raised her eyebrows. "In the middle of the afternoon? You don't like that. You like everything structured and scheduled with names in capital letters."_

* * *

Usual [yoo-zhoo-uh]: adjective; 1) habitual or customary; 2) commonly met with or observed in experience, ordinary; 3) commonplace, everyday.

_Dimension: noun; extension in a given direction.  
__41% bridal Amy  
__12% pregnant Amy  
__47% maternal Amy_

His bride. Everything was firm and taut and smooth. He loved running his cheek over the planes of her body, memorizing their creamy, warm features, learning her reactions. It surprised him, then, just how much he desired her physically. He had loved her mind for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love anything else about her as much.

Oh, God!, pregnant Amy! She was majestic. She ripened and rounded before his very eyes. Loving her was an exercise in geometry and worship. He loved to run his hands along her changing features, measuring the growing diameters with his palm, every radius different, steeper, more beautiful than the last time he touched her. He had loved her body for so long, he thought it wasn't possible to love it any more. He was wrong.

The mother of his child. Another change. Things were softer and slacker. Gravity had tugged on her body. She was self-conscious, he knew. Twice, at the last second, he remembered stories from Howard and Leonard about commenting on their wife's weight. He managed to hold his tongue; instead he used it to trace those extra pounds, those stretch marks. Her medals of honor, her badges of courage, the scars of what she had done for him. It was better that way, and not just to avoid the sleeping on the couch as he had been warned about. He loved her so much, for so long, he had ran out of verbal ways to tell her how much more he desired her now than ever.

_Approach vector: noun; a course suggested or instigated by an object to allow the object to rendezvous with a designated target.  
__57% getting into bed nude (either party)  
__18% deepening the kiss (either party); subsets: 06% including touching the buttons on her cardigan or blouse, 02% including her hands running under my shirts  
__15% Amy running her finger along the helix of my ear  
10% verbal indication of desire (either party)_

It was idea he had struck on years ago (_years! has it been years now?_), when he had been too shy and embarrassed to actually ask for it. And, if he were being honest, there had a been a couple of weeks there, at first, when the last thing he thought about in association with bed was sleep. The fewer barriers, the faster he could be naked, the better. Now, it was established and simple and gave no room for confusion.

But, he had to admit, as much as he loved her cardigans, nothing was better than slowly peeling one off of her. There had a been a phase, early in their marriage, when she sometimes wore sweater vests instead. He hated them; it was not sexy to remove a sweater vest. After the fire, he noticed she never bought another.

The ear thing caused some sort of Pavlovian response in him, and even now the very thought of it sent prickles through his body. Prickles that had the power to tear him away from his favorite television show when they were sitting on the couch, power to make him forget the comic book he was trying to read before going to sleep, power to wake him up in the middle of the night.

_Decline: verb; to refuse with courtesy.  
__Note: Limited samples, probable skewed data, more study of phenomena required.  
__60% Amy smacking my hand away from her hip  
__35% lack of eye contact, terse goodnight, and rolling away from me  
__05% I get up and move to another room_

Who was he kidding? He didn't want to study this phenomena in the least. Disturbed by the break in his eidetic memory, he couldn't remember why he'd ever say no.

_Trajectory: noun; the path described by an object moving under the influences of outside forces.  
__96% rolling or turning, in either direction (i.e. rotation)  
__03% rushing to the closest suitable surface together  
__01% Amy stalks me from the foot of the bed_

Just thinking about the stalking made his heart race. Rarely (as 1% of the time indicates), and most commonly if she was tipsy, Amy would stand at the end of the bed and pull the blankets down, down, down, clawing at them. Then she would give him a look he never saw anywhere else, her emerald eyes flashing like he was prey. Wow, it was good. Next, she would lean over and arch her back at the same time, prowling toward him, watching him, like a cat, her breasts swinging, hypnotizing him. No, it wasn't good, it was hot. Sometimes she said his name as she slinked forward, and it came out like a cross between a purr and snake's hiss. Fiery hot. Only since the babymoon would she sometimes pause halfway to his lips, dipping her head down to . . . Dear Lord. She wouldn't, of course, finish the job, he still didn't like the mess, but just a little bit until his mind was blown. Pun fully intended. She would rise up, give him the devilish smirk of a predator, and proceed on her painfully slow, stealthy course until she was close enough she could devour him hungrily -

Sheldon snapped upright and marched to the kitchen.

"Are you okay?" Amy asked from her computer.

"I just need a drink of water." Very, very cold water.

_Position: noun; the arrangement or disposition of the body or a part of the body.  
__61% missionary  
__29% Amy on top; subset: 08% includes sitting upright  
__10% spooning_

He liked looking down at her, his face very close to her completely relaxed one, watching her just taking and enjoying. If he wasn't watching her, he liked resting his cheek against hers and occasionally whispering in her ear. He liked the feel of her hands on his back, her fingernails running down his spine, the way her hands gripped his buttocks. Most of all, he liked that she was his alone in those moments, that he was keeping her all to himself. At first it was so natural he hadn't thought about it; but then after she assumed control one night he wondered if those thoughts were too possessive, if she would be offended by them. And, of course, he could so rarely bring her to climax this way. But she continued to pull him over her when it could have easily gone the other way. Finally, after months, he had asked her. She said something about being his pearl, which was just the sort of sentimental nonsense that he loved/hated to hear her say. Especially when she was right. Freed from his worries, it remained his favorite without doubts; she was his pearl and he was polishing her, and he didn't care how very trite that sounded.

_Velocity: noun; rapidity of motion or operation; swiftness; speed.  
__70% one to three on a scale of ten  
__25% six to eight on a scale of ten  
__05% maximum speed  
_

Slow and gentle. Once he was there he was no desire to end it too quickly.

Amy, though, like to speed things up when she was in control. She pressed harder, deeper, she moved quicker, with greater variations. Not rough (usually), just not as sedate. This was, he knew, necessary for her, and the look on her face when it happened, when she brought herself to where she wanted to be and he could let go and join her there . . . that moment was perfect.

As for the remaining five percent, it was the spice known as variety. Or, more often since Ada was born, lack of time.

_Vocalizations: noun, plural; to make vocal; utter; articulate; sing.  
__100% of instances_

Once, he had imagined coitus with Amy would be silent and clinical. She would conduct herself in a controlled fashion, as she did with everything. But, no, coitus with Amy was full of noises. All of those sounds she made near him, because of him, so close to his ear - the breathing, the panting, the gasps, the mewling, the whispers - he loved them all.

Or, perhaps, he had once imagined, that she would moan instead, progressively louder, and then scream and slap things. Granted, this idea came from watching a rerun of _When Harry Met Sally._ But she didn't, not usually. She sucked in all the air she could gather and let it out in a series of high notes. It was pure and clean.

Sometimes, though, it was different. Rarely there was tremble. Sometimes it was deep, almost a groan, that seemed to rise out of her. Best of all, sometimes it was his name.

_Frequency: noun; the number of items occurring in a given category.  
__Category BA (before Ada): approximate 3.7 times a week.  
__Category AA (after Ada): approximate 1.5 times a week._

What was there to say about that? Nothing. Both categories felt natural in their respective times.

_Duration: noun; the length of time something continues or exists.  
__Untested; dissent on meaning.  
_

He had never timed it. Before it, there was only desire. During it, he felt like he began and ended there, in a continuous cycle of bliss. After it, it always felt too short.

Additionally, what counted as _it_? Actual coitus, yes, but what about all those soul stirring things that came before? Touching her, loving her, being buried in her skin? And those serene moments afterwards, holding her, falling asleep around her?

Sheldon glanced at Amy across the large partner's desk she had picked out for them, which, like so many things Amy thought of, was the best idea he had ever known. Her face was lit by the screen, the text of her work reflecting off of her glasses. Looking back at his own screen, he pressed and held down the backspace key before typing again.

_Duration: forever._

"Sheldon, what are you working on?" Amy asked. "You keep looking at me, and now you're smiling."

"Uh, well, you know," he shrugged, wiping away the smile he didn't know was there, "the usual."

Amy looked at him quizzically, and he could almost see the gears in her mind turning. "Hmmmmm."

"Are you ready for bed?" he asked.

"Yes, I think I'm at a good stopping point."

"Good." He pressed the red dot in the corner of his screen.

_Do you want to keep this new document "Untitled"?_

He glanced quickly at Amy again, as she stood from her chair. He already had everything he needed.

_Delete._

"Shall we?" she put out her hand, an invitation. He took it.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	36. Fantasies

**Fantasies (_takes place after_ The Rosie Project)**

* * *

_"Clark Kent wore glasses."_

_"As a disguise, so no one would know he was Superman. Not because he needed them. Besides, Clark Kent wasn't the superhero," Sheldon pointed out._

_"Maybe. But he was a more interesting character. Not to mention more handsome," Amy said._

_"Handsome?"_

_She shrugged coyly, "I always had a little fantasy crush on him. Maybe it was the glasses." Then she leaned forward and whispered, "You know, I could move my end of the conversation over to the iPad and then over to the bedroom and we could start another topic that we certainly didn't attempt ten years ago."_

_"Amy! As I said before, it's not that type of phone call!"_

* * *

"Oh, come on, why not? We're consensual adults."

Sheldon did not admit it, but he was tempted. More by the twinkle in Amy's eyes than by the idea of any actual cybersex. _Is it still even called that anymore?_ But, no, he just didn't think he could bring himself to do it. Plus, he doubted it would be satisfying. He already knew that his most pleasurable physical interactions with her were the ones in which she was very close to him, with his face buried in her somewhere, not 2407.38 miles away.

"Well, there's the concern over Internet privacy for starters. Although it's an active, live feed, it is still being routed through servers that - Amy?" Suddenly Amy's face with the bookshelves behind her were gone, replaced by the ceiling. The moving ceiling. "Amy, did you switch to the iPad?"

The view shifted again, and Amy's smirking face filled the screen, the great room of their home moving behind her. "Indeed I did. I know you well, Sheldon Cooper. I have no doubt that even if you are using the free WiFi provided by your hotel, you will have set a private browsing and chatting session so there are no temporary Internet files saved on your device. As have I."

"But I don't think I told you they assigned Leonard and I adjoining rooms!"

She was entering their walk-in closet now, and Sheldon watched as Amy seem to be adjusting the iPad on one of the shelves. "Is the door to Leonard's room open?" she asked.

"Um, no."

"Unlocked?"

"No, I locked it while I was waiting for you to call back," Sheldon mumbled.

"Okay then," Amy said. Then she stepped away and started to unbutton her cardigan. _Oh, dear!, she's going to perform a strip-tease! I cannot handle that!_ Even the thought of that had an undesired effect on his body.

But it seemed that Amy had sensed Sheldon's trepidation. She did undress in front of him, but there was nothing more salacious about it than her usual evening ritual; certainly no repeat of the chess incident. Not that it mattered; he had undressed next to Amy a thousand times, but to just be lying there in bed, watching it, it felt . . . exciting. At last, her nightgown shimmied over her body, and she walked back over to the screen.

"Okay? You still with me?" Sheldon nodded. The screen moved again, the chaotic, rapid movements of being carried. Then Amy's face was back, sideways, resting on her pillow. She had put the iPad on his pillow. He smiled softly at this view; he missed it terribly. She said softly, "We can just talk."

"I'd like that. Here." Sheldon picked up his own iPad and adjusted it so that it was on the side of the bed that would be Amy's if she were there. He curled up on his own side to face her. "I'm sorry the lamp here doesn't have a dimmer. Is this too bright?"

She shook her head. "No, it's good. It's almost like being back in bed with you. What shall we talk about?"

"Do you really fantasize about Clark Kent?" Sheldon blurted out.

Amy chuckled. "Are you jealous? Maybe fantasize is too strong of a word. I just think he's more interesting. Think of all the excuses he's constantly making, all the times his dinner is burnt because he had to leave while it was cooking, all the relationships that he can't have because he's always leaving unexpectedly or showing up late for a date. It's an unexplored world, the lonely world of superheroes' alter egos."

"Their superhero is their alter ego, not their everyday cover," Sheldon said.

"I'm not so sure about that . . ." Amy said, trailing off.

Sheldon blinked slowly at her. How strange, he had never previously considered it from that point of view. That was just like Amy: to say something so fresh and new and suddenly so obvious.

"What about Thor? You fantasize about him, and he cannot be separated from his superhero version."

Her lips screwed up slightly. "How do you know I fantasize about Thor?"

"Because, well, you sometimes read my Thor comic books. And you like the movies."

"I like Norse mythology. And, okay, there is something about that golden mane of hair that I enjoy. But the movies . . . how do you know I'm watching Thor?"

"Who else would you be watching?" Sheldon adjusted, so that his head was resting on his arm, which was easier in his new glasses.

"There's Loki."

"Loki!"

"Yes," Amy smiled. "He's tall and thin and his hair is dark and he has the most beautiful blue eyes . . . that's more my type, really."

Sheldon blushed.

"Enough about me, who do you fantasize about?" Amy asked.

"What?" Sheldon lurched slightly. "No one. Why would I fantasize?"

"Because you're a healthy, sexually active human male," Amy said matter-of-factly. "There has to be someone, some actress or character that you've seen or read about that you imagined yourself snuggling up to at night."

"Amy!"

"I said snuggling. If you thought I meant something else, well," she shrugged, but a devilish grin was on her face.

Sheldon licked his lips. "Well, when I was a teenager, sometimes, I, uh, well, this is embarrassing, I imagined Catwoman. Or Deanna Troi."

Her head went up slightly. "Deanna Troi?"

"I was fourteen in 1994! She was wearing Spandex! And she took the bridge officer's examination in 'Thine Own Self.' You know how I admire a woman that can run a tight ship."

Amy's head went down and she laughed. "Okay, all's fair. One of my most embarrassing teenage fantasies was Jeff Goldblum's character in _Jurassic Park_."

It was Sheldon's turn to be surprised. "Dr. Ian Malcolm?"

"All that talk of DNA and probability and cloning. Mmmmm," Amy said. "Not to mention he's tall with dark hair and glasses . . ."

"I may not be a specialist in chaos theory like Ian Malcolm but I think I'm sensing a pattern here." Sheldon paused. "Where, exactly, did you think you would have the time or place to, um, snuggle with him? While you were running for your lives from a velociraptor?"

"Oh, it wouldn't be in Jurassic Park. I would imagine the main reading room of the Thomas Jefferson Building in the Library of Congress. After it closed. With only a few emergency lights on. Alone. Maybe on the floor beside the -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I'm right here!" Sheldon interrupted.

"You know, Sheldon, just because the place hasn't changed, it doesn't mean it's still Ian Malcolm," she said softly.

"It isn't?" he replied, slightly breathless.

"No. It would still be after it closed. Only a few lights on, a dim yellow glow. We'd be alone, you and I. You'd have just published a new book, something about Albert Einstein. It's a shoe-in for the Pulitzer prize -"

"Pulitzer, not Nobel?" Sheldon interrupted.

"Welllll . . . I still think even my fantasy Sheldon would prefer to write in concrete facts inside of the nuances of the human experience that is fiction. And the Nobel is only given for fiction," Amy said.

"Yes, I suppose so." Sheldon waited for her to continue.

"Where was I? Oh, yes . . . I'd put on my best cardigan and sexiest heels, and I'd go to your book signing, and I hang back until the end. You're wearing a tweed jacket with elbow patches over your tee-shirts and -"

"Tweed jacket?"

"It's a fantasy, Sheldon," Amy said firmly.

He put up his free hand. "Okay. Carry on."

"Anyway. I dazzle you with my wit and intelligence. And then you take me to the Library of Congress, with your keycard, because did I mention you also work there as a librarian?"

"Librarian?"

"Fantasy!" she huffed. Then she took a deep breath. "You give me a private tour and it ends in the main reading room. It's very dim and magical, and our voices echo in the cavernous space, so we whisper." Amy closed her eyes and her voice took on a dreamy quality. "Our heads get closer as our voices get lower. And then you brush my lip with your thumb just before you kiss me softly and -"

"Stop," he said softly.

"Sheldon?" she opened her eyes.

"I like it. It's just . . ." He made a motion with his hand, waving downwards.

Amy smiled. "I know."

"You vixen," he shot back. A pause. "Do you remember that dream you had once, where I was a time traveling physicist and you were a naïve young woman who traveled with me?"

"I don't know if I'd use the word naïve," Amy said, "but yes."

"Do you ever fantasize about that?"

"Hmmm, fantasize? No, I don't think so. Do you?"

"I just . . . they seemed so real, didn't they, just the way you described them to me. Never mind." Then he licked his lips. "Amy . . . do you . . . do you want me to tell you my fantasy?"

"Only if you want."

"Um, well." Why had he offered? What was he thinking? Verbalizing that? "Because it's a fantasy, they award the Nobel Prize in June."

"Your sexual fantasy is about you and the Nobel Prize?" Amy asked.

"Just listen. You didn't like it when I interrupted you!" Sheldon barked.

"I'm sorry. I'll be good. Continue."

He sighed. "I'm sorry I snapped. I never thought I'd be saying this."

"Sheldon, you don't have to. We can just say goodnight," Amy said, leaning toward the screen.

He looked at her for a few seconds, her dark hair, her green eyes, the dim light of their bedroom, so far away, surrounding her. Catwoman? Deanna Troi? No, he didn't want her to have any doubts.

"Can I close my eyes?" he asked. "I want to see it when I describe it."

"I'll close mine, too," Amy offered. And she shut her eyes.

Sheldon smiled softly at that, before he shutting his own. "June twenty-first to be precise. The summer solstice. You and I both have one, we each get our Nobel Prize on the same date. We sneak out of the banquet early, before the dancing is finished. Because we don't want to embarrass everyone further with our superior dance moves. We walk along the waterside promenades. It's beautiful: the old buildings with turrets and patina roofs and those precisely trimmed Scandinavian trees. There's a café somewhere with soft music and laughter. Stockholm is beautiful, you know, one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Because it's June twenty-first, the sky is still blue, although a deeper blue because of approaching twilight, the sunlight scattering in the upper atmosphere, with just a trace of remaining fluffy cumulus clouds in the sky, and the sunset glints off the medals that we're still wearing around our necks and we laugh when people look at us oddly. Because we're dressed up. You're wearing a dress with a big skirt, lots of layers, but your hair is down. It's just a little breezy, just enough to lift up the ends of your hair. I've reserved a sailboat as a surprise -"

"A sailboat? You hate boats," he heard Amy ask

Sheldon opened his eyes, but she still had her eyes closed. He shut his again. "I'm a man of many talents. Especially in my fantasies. Anyway, we sail away, past the Opera and Parliament and the Royal Palace, until we're in the archipelago proper. We make love on the boat, in just our medals, and it's perfect, so perfect we don't even whisper. There's that light that is unique to the white nights of the North. The only sounds are the waves of the Baltic sea and the seagulls and the noise our medals make when they clink together as we move and your . . . breath."

Opening his eyes as though he has just woken from a dream, once again he found Amy's green eyes looking at him. She didn't even try to pretend she hadn't been peeking. It didn't matter, her look was perfect.

"Perfect," she whispered. "It seems you have a gift for describing the nuances of human emotion, after all."

"I think we should say goodnight," Sheldon whispered back. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Amy blew another kiss, even slower than the one she had sent him earlier, and he closed his eyes for a brief second, to imagine she was really next to him in bed, kissing him goodnight. Then her screen went dark.

Sheldon reached over and turned off his iPad, but left it resting on the extra pillow. He rolled over his on his opposite side and sighed, taking off his glasses and turning off the bedside lamp, thinking of his fantasy and the reality. Maybe he shouldn't have told her. No matter how she was looking at him at the end. He wanted her to know the reality - the reality of non-Nobel laureate Amy in her nightgown, in their bed - was just as perfect. He shifted uncomfortably and wondered what Amy was thinking, what Amy was doing.

Was she doing . . . that? He suspected she was. He wondered how she started, without him there to kiss. Did she run her hands down her sides, did she slowly lift up her nightgown? Did she caress her breasts? Sometimes, when he pleasured her, she would touch her own breast. He liked watching it. What then? Was she slow, deliberate, like he would be? Did she stroke the skin of her inner thigh first, teasing herself the way he did, that skin that he knew from experience was the smoothest, softest, creamiest skin on her entire body? Was her breath full of eager anticipation? Did she moan when she first made contact, like she often did for him? Amy, in their bed, in the dim light of their bedroom, thinking of him, not talking, only imagining him touching her, fantasizing about him touching her. The only sounds would be the occasional rustle of the sheets and her soft cries.

He sighed again, even more deeply, grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the bedside table, and rolled over on his back. "Amy Farrah Fowler, you will be the death of me," he whispered as he lowered his pajama pants.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	37. Imperfect

**Imperfect (_takes place after_ Passage)**

* * *

_Amy chuckled. "No. But . . . well, think of a memory. Or a handful of memories. Chances are greater they will be imperfect than perfect, correct? Wait -" she stopped him from speaking - "I'm not talking about how well you remember them. I'm talking about what happened in those memories. No human is perfect, so very few events that occur between humans will be perfect. Some are confusing or awkward or embarrassing, in some you are sad or shy or angry or hurt. Or don't even know what you're feeling, really. But they stay with you, right? Because of who is in them. And, over time, as the years go by, even if they are still sad or confusing, there's something about them . . ." she shrugged. "They stay with you. And, in the end, you even find yourself saying, 'Remember that time that such-and-such happened?'"_

* * *

February 15, 2015

He slipped into bed next to her. Even through his plaid pajamas, she was powerfully aware of the heat radiating off of his body. Amy kept looking up at the ceiling.

"Um . . ." Sheldon asked, ". . . should I turn off the light?"

Should he? Last night, they had been too eager to turn it on and had lost their virginity (_!_) by the light of the hallway. This morning, the sunrise had been streaming in the window. But did they need the light . . . .

"If you want," she whispered.

There was an overly long pause and then Sheldon reached over to turn off the lamp.

Amy put her hand up over her chest, feeling her heart pounding under her nightgown. She felt hot. "Sheldon?"

"Yes?" she thought his reply was awfully quick, like he was waiting for her to speak.

"Did you change the thermostat?"

"No." What that disappointment she heard in his voice? "Why?"

"I'm a little warm, that's all."

"Oh." Another pregnant pause. "Me, too."

"Should we . . . . ?" Amy wasn't sure how to end the sentence. Was even a sexually active Sheldon Cooper prepared to hear the words "sleep naked"? They had last night, but that was . . . well, that's just what sexual activity caused.

"Take off the quilt?" Sheldon suggested.

"Oh. Okay."

Amy didn't even move to help, just watched his barely visible form shifting in bed beside and above her as he slowly pulled the quilt down.

"I'm folding it in an accordion pattern," he volunteered, "so if we get cold later, we can just reach down and pull it back up."

_Like if we're naked? No, don't think that. What is wrong with me? _"Thank you."

Sheldon lay back down next to her, not touching but, she thought, maybe closer. Or was she imagining it? His arm moved. Then a leg. A hand moved. Then moved back. He was fidgeting. Odd, because she was oddly too . . . something to move.

"Amy?" Sheldon said timidly.

"Yes?" she replied, still looking at the ceiling.

"May I . . . ask you a personal question?"

Amy smiled in the dark. She rather felt all personal questions were allowed now. "Yes."

"Are you . . . it's just that I would hate to think . . . I mean, now that some time has passed . . . " he took a deep breath ". . . uncomfortable in any way?"

She smiled again. "No." A pause, a decision to be honest. "A little, when I first sat down at breakfast. But it's passed."

"Oh."

Was that regret she heard? Well, that was normal, right? He was disappointed that he had had a part in her discomfort, not matter how minor. Or how much it didn't matter to her, how much it had been worth it.

She rolled over. Sheldon was also lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. What should she say? Or do? Honestly, what were the options available to her, only the ones that didn't scream "I'm a sex maniac"? And why was this suddenly so awkward and embarrassing? It had not been that way last night or this morning. Or even their nudity in the shower. The shower. They were getting married. How her life had changed in the past twenty-four hours!

"Sheldon?"

He finally rolled over also. "Amy?"

"Do you want to . . . ?"

"Oh, yes!"

* * *

February 20, 2015

The best part was Amy's face across the bed, still wearing her tiara, how optimistically she watched the die fall on the hardback book.

"Left ankle," Sheldon sighed, looking down at the now still die. "Again."

"What do we do?" Amy asked, glancing at her bare legs, her shoes and tights already having been removed.

Sheldon shook his head, crossing his own bare feet in front of him. "Everyone thinks that because a die roll results in the same number several times in a row, that the probability is that the next roll will be on their side. It's not true; the probability resets for every roll."

"I love it when you talk dirty to me," Amy said.

Sheldon looked up, startled, but she was grinning. _Oh, sarcasm._

"Proposal," Amy continued. "We just add ten to every roll?"

"Hmmm. No," Sheldon said. "That wouldn't work. We'd skip right over arms and legs. I may be fairly new at this, but I don't see how we can having a wedding night while still being fully dressed."

"Five?" Amy suggested.

"Now you're just being arbitrary," Sheldon said. Then he sighed deeply. "This was supposed to be your wedding present. And your prize for winning our wager. But it's only becoming frustrating."

There was silence as they both looked at the offending die for a moment, and then Amy's tiara started to slip and she reached up to grab it. "Arbitrary or not, I'm just calling twelve or whatever number we need for scalp, because I want to take this off."

"Scalp isn't a body part when using the die for damage," Sheldon said absent-mindedly.

"I'm sure there are some other body parts we'll using that aren't included on there, either," Amy said. Then she chuckled. "Maybe we should have bought sex dice!"

"Amy!"

For some reason, this made Amy laugh harder. "I can just imagine you rolling vagina and not being able to say it!"

Sheldon's eyebrows shot up. _Was that a challenge?_ "Lips!" he called out and leaned over to give her a quick peck.

Amy's laugh got deeper. "That's more like it!"

He loved watching her, her green eyes dancing. _My wife. My wife. Today and forever, she is my wife._ He picked up the book and rotated to put it on the end table. He looked at the die in his hand for a second and shrugged and threw it over his shoulder. This elicited anther peel of laughter from Amy, and he found himself grinning.

"Breasts!" he called, taking her by the shoulders, slowly angling her down on the bed, breaking out into his own laughter at the ridiculousness of it all.

* * *

July 2, 2015

_Oh! _She couldn't help it, she jerked her head back at the first taste, out of the way. That was . . . probably the wrong thing to do. What if he thought she was repulsed? She tentatively touched a drop on her lip with her tongue. Salty.

Amy raised her eyes up to look at him. He was staring at her.

"Did -"

"You've got some on your chin," Sheldon interrupted. He reached over to the bedside table and pulled out a tissue, handing it to her. She took it and wiped her chin, watching Sheldon cleaning off his stomach, pulling one tissue after another out of the box. Surely he would empty it.

"Sheldon?" she asked, frightened by his reserve.

He looked up and smiled at her, but it looked tepid. "Come here," he said, softly.

She crawled up next to him, and he pulled her in close, his arm about her shoulders. Both of them reclining against the headboard, they lay in silence, as he stroked her hair. She had no idea what he was thinking.

* * *

December 4, 2015

"No, you put your right leg here," Amy grasped Sheldon's thigh and guided his leg to where it needed to be.

"Ouch. That's very uncomfortable," he protested.

"Be patient. Then I move like this . . . " she shifted in front of him.

"How is that sexy?" he asked.

"You're supposed to lean forward," she instructed.

He grunted but complied.

"Better?" she asked.

"Only marginally."

"Okay, so now you can penetrate me."

"Who invented this position? Cirque de Soliol members?"

"Sheldon! You're ruining it!"

"This position is ruining it! 'Now you can penetrate me.' This feels like gym class, not foreplay."

Amy huffed and pulled away from him. She tried to look at Sheldon, but he was avoiding her gaze. Finally, he said, still looking down, "Amy, I don't - I know you wanted to try all of these - and some are fun - but - it feels like work. I don't want it to feel like work."

Reaching out, she put her fingertips under his chin, forcing him to raise his face. "Then we'll stop."

"I'm sorry," he finally looked at her. "I know you were attempting to be scientific, experimenting, finding the perfect position -"

"Come," she interrupted, taking his hand.

"What?"

"This is my favorite," Amy whispered and she stretched out on her back, pulling him over her.

* * *

March 18, 2016

Sheldon did a double take and almost fell off his side of the bed. "Amy, what on Earth is that?" He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of her nether regions.

"Oh, this?" Amy looked down, which he didn't understand at all because surely she couldn't help but be aware of when that happened. "I told you Penny and I went to get waxes yesterday."

"Yes, but what's wrong with it?" Fortunately, Amy slid into bed next to him, obscuring it from view. At least it explained why she had changed last night and this morning in the bathroom, alone.

"It's called a Brazilian, Sheldon," Amy huffed. "Apparently it's quite common."

"But what purpose does it serve? Is it an arrow? Braille for the blind virgin?"

She crossed her arms, which only managed to emphasize her cleavage. "Some men find it erotic."

"Not this man. It's unnatural. You're an adult female! Why would you mutilate yourself in that fashion?"

"You know what?" The line in Amy's brow was deep. "It's my body, and I can do with it what I like. I don't need to know your opinion."

"But you just said you did it because men supposedly find it erotic!" His voice was getting loud now. "Beside, I always have an opinion, and you love hearing them."

"Forget it," Amy mumbled and rolled away from him, turning off the bedside lamp, darkening the room, and sliding down between the covers.

Sheldon sighed deeply. How was this his fault? He wasn't the one who had disfigured his body. "I just don't understand. Obviously, grooming of all parts of your body are essential to proper personal hygiene. But -"

"I said forget it." Now she was talking through clenched teeth and that was never a good sign.

Sighing again, he laid down himself and shifted close to her back, careful not to touch her. "Amy, I'm sorry. You're right, it's your body. If you find this Brazilian thing . . . attractive, then well, it's your decision."

"I don't need you to tell me when something about my own body is my decision."

Not knowing why, exactly, Sheldon smiled behind her. The timing was all wrong, but he loved to hear the defiance in her voice. "Amy," he said softly, "I know. That's not what I meant. It surprised me. Especially your reasoning." He paused. "Remember that Buzzfeed I sent you? If Hermoine Granger were the main character in Harry Potter? I didn't just send because it was funny, I sent it because it sounded like things you would say. I love it when you rail against the patriarchy."

He heard a sniff. "Amy?"

"I'm a horrible feminist! I didn't do it to rail against the patriarchy! I only did because Penny talked me into it, she said you'd like it. But I hate it! And it was painful and it makes me look like I'm ten and it will only look worse when as grows out and I'm sure it will itch like crazy!" Another sniff.

Risking reprimand, he wrapped his arm around her waist. "You know I love you just the way you are, right? I wish you wouldn't listen to Penny so much, though." When she didn't push him away or fight back, he dropped a brief kiss on her shoulder.

"Even though Hermoine wouldn't ever get a Brazilian for any man?" she finally said.

"I wouldn't be so sure about that. Ron is a fumbling idiot, and she'd probably decide to do it just to provide him a map." He stopped, suddenly. Was that a patriarchal thing to say? He wasn't sure.

But Amy had started chuckling, and, as her laugh grew louder, he grinned. She rolled over in his arms. "You're right. Hermione wouldn't accept anything less than mutual satisfaction."

"Mmmmm, and neither should you . . . " He bent to kiss her, his hand already trailing down her body, finding the arrow to point the way.

* * *

July 15, 2016

He was curled up, almost off the bed he was so far over to his side. He just wanted one night of sleep. A solid uninterrupted eight hours. That's it.

Her arm slid around him and he jerked, almost kicking.

"Sheldon?" Amy whispered into his back.

"Don't touch me," he said, hoarsely, bringing his head further down into his chest. Her arm pulled away.

"I'm sorry." The anguished whisper again. The edge of a cry. He couldn't bear to hear her cry. To see her cry. Now when he so desperately wanted to cry. "I just wish you'd let me help you feel better in some way."

"Go away. Leave me alone," he said. "I don't want you to touch me. That never makes me feel better."

She did cry then, but it was of shock. Hurt. He realized, from a memory of something, that his words had hurt her. But he felt nothing.

The comforter was pulled off the bed and she stomped out of the room, dragging it behind her. She was angry, too. He saw her face as she passed. Tears. He rolled forcefully away from the door, toward her side of the bed. Empty.

Exactly how he felt. He wanted to cry. For himself. For hurting Amy. For lying to her. For Meemaw. But he was empty.

* * *

December 12, 2017

"Hoooooooo. . . " the last breath of her orgasm died away, and Amy leaned forward, wishing she was still able to rest her forehead against Sheldon's, who was breathing heavily after his own. The baby kicked her strongly and her hand went down on reflex. She always tried to disconnect the two things, which felt both necessary and yet impossible, as it was sex that had gotten her in this condition in the first place.

She shifted as she straddled him, preparing herself to lift away from him, so they could cuddle and feel the baby move together with minimal weirdness. Sheldon brought his hands up to her sides to help her when she suddenly, and loudly, passed gas.

"Oh!" she yelled, jerking herself off of him as fast as she could, her face burning red. "I'm so sorry, I -"

Except Sheldon didn't look disgusted or angry; instead, he threw his head back and laughed. "Sheldon?" her brow wrinkled.

He actually flopped over on his side, he was laughing so hard. "Are you laughing at me? Do you think it's funny?"

"Yes - and - I don't - know -why."

She picked up her pillow and hit him with it. "Sheldon Cooper, it's not funny!" Another hit. "Stop acting like a seven-year-old boy!" Hit. "I'm seven and half months pregnant -" Hit. "- and it's an unavoidable, natural bodily function and -" Hit.

"Why are you hitting me?" He managed to get out, still laughing, grabbing his own bed pillow and swinging it at her but missing wildly. Maybe on purpose because she was pregnant, maybe because he was never any good at sports.

Then Amy burst out laughing, too, at the sheer improbably of Sheldon laughing at something like this, her embarrassment mostly gone. She lifted up her pillow and hit him again.

* * *

January 14, 2018

"Like this?" she asked. "It's the most I can curl now."

"Yes," Sheldon answered, kissing her shoulder. He put a hand on her hip, to steady him and start to inch closer -

"Wait. I'm sorry, this is too much pressure on my hip. Give me a pillow to support my knee."

Sheldon shifted and grabbed the pillow from the foot of the bed, handing it to her. Amy put it under her bent knee. "Does that give you enough room?"

"Yes." Lying down behind her again, adjusting, inching toward, guiding himself to where he wanted to be.

"Careful," Amy whispered.

"Of course," he whispered back, kissing her shoulder.

There was sudden noise, a little . . . what? . . . from her. "Amy?"

She let out a slow breath. "Nothing. It's okay."

Sheldon frowned behind her. Should he stop? But he was barely in, and, oh God, he needed to continue. He gritted his teeth and scarcely pressed further.

That sound again. "Amy?"

"I'm . . . can you . . . not go any deeper?"

He pulled back slightly - really, if he pulled back any more he'd be out - and pushed back, with so little force he thought thrust really wasn't the term.

"Ow!" Amy said. "I'm sorry, please stop."

He already had. Rather, his body had already stopped, had immediately lost any interest the second he recognized the onomatopoeia of pain.

"Amy? Are you okay?" he asked in fear. Sheldon stayed behind her, curled up to match her naked form, and started to softly rub her forearm. An unstated apology.

"I'm sorry, Sheldon," she said, softly.

"You have nothing to apologize for," he replied with equal softness. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"No, you didn't. I promise. It just felt like . . . too much pressure." She turned her face, and he could clearly see her profile. "Do you want me to . . . maybe a hand job?"

He shook his head and buried his face into her neck, beneath her ear. "It's gone."

"Oh."

He thought they would maybe fall asleep that way, until he felt something wet on his nose. He opened his eyes, and brought his hand up to caress her hair. "Amy, please don't cry. I _did _hurt you."

"No, really, you didn't." Her face turned away sharply, and he lost her profile. "It's just stupid hormones . . . I wanted the last time to be perfect."

"Shhhh, shhhh," he murmured and wrapped his arm about her, tighter, slipping his palm in between her full breasts and her enormous stomach. _Me too._

* * *

August 1, 2019

It was her absence that awoke him and confused him. He glanced at the clock. Only six. But there was a chill in the bed where Amy normally lay. Sheldon sat up and rubbed his face. Ugh, he hadn't slept well. He was awake too late, consoling Amy as she cried, cramping from not moving while he held her, hot to be in bed fully clothed and under the blankets. Finally, they'd broken apart and just thrown their clothes on the floor, but he still couldn't sleep, his mind churning, thinking of his own father, of being a father.

But Amy . . . Sheldon pushed the covers off and followed the sound of the shower to the bathroom. The pile of clothes on the floor itched his brain as he passed, but Amy . . . Her back was to him, and he was rather ashamed of what the sight of her naked posterior did to him. _Only because I just woke up_, he reasoned, _and I was half-way in that state, anyway._

"Amy? Are you all right? It's early," he said over the sound of the water.

"Join me," she said.

Sheldon opened the glass shower door. Tentatively, he put his hands on her shoulders. "Do you need something? Or do you need to be alone today? Do we need to suspend toilet -"

"Shhh." Amy turned around, in his embrace, and wrapped her arms around him.

"Tell me what you need," he whispered in her ear after kissing her forehead.

"This."

Sheldon sucked in is breath as her hand on him made it abundantly clear what _this _was. "Are you sure? I mean -"

"Sheldon." She back up and looked at him, her green eyes determined. "Please."

After swallowing, Sheldon nodded and allowed her to guide him toward the titled bench, where he sat and helped Amy straddle him, where he let her take what she needed.

* * *

December 1, 2020 (present day)

"Right there. Ohhhhh, I'm close," Amy moaned.

Sheldon bent down to nibble on her earlobe again, as he was propped up on one elbow, his other hand cupping on her her breasts under the covers, curving around her from behind. Amy made a sharp intake of breath and he felt his own approaching climax._ God, I love it when we come together -_

"Mama?" The bedroom door flung open at the same time the small voice sounded.

Sheldon froze in absolute terror, only able to move his wide eyes to look at Ada, standing in their doorway, in her pajamas. _Frak! What time is it?_

"I have to go potty!" Ada whined, doing a little dance.

"Sweetheart -"

"Go!" Sheldon yelled, still not moving. Why had he woken Amy up this way? Why did the most satisfying foreplay take so long?

"Daddy?"

"GET OUT! NOW!"

Ada yelped, turned and fled at the same time Amy pulled away from him, stood, and ran for her robe. "Sheldon Cooper! Look what you've done! You frightened her and she peed on the hallway floor!"

Sheldon rolled over on his back and moaned, rubbing his face with his hands. "Why did she just come barging in here when she knows that not allowed? And urinate in random places?"

"Because it's 6:49! And she's a child! And you created a schedule in which she has to pee before 6:45 in the morning! This is why we don't have -" Amy lowered her voice to whisper yell as she threw his robe on the bed "- hug on a work morning!"

"Hug?" Sheldon uncovered his eyes to look at her.

"Yes, we were _hugging_. That's it, that's all she saw. That's all we'll say. All _you'll _say, when you apologize to her. And only if she asks. I swear to God, if you say anything else, you won't be able to hug again for a very long time!" Amy swept out of the room, to clean the floor, to sooth their daughter.

Groaning, Sheldon sat and reached for his robe, to afraid to lower the blankets before he was wearing it. He swung his legs over, stood, and looked down. _Frak! Now I have to take care of that in the shower. And we're going to be late for work. Just perfect._

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews! And, if you haven't yet read 'If Hermoine Granger were the main character in Harry Potter' on buzzfeed .com, go read it now. After you've dried your tears from laughing so hard, you'll thank me.**_


	38. Perfect

**Perfect (_takes place after_ One Day)**

* * *

February 14, 2015

_Gentle, slow, gentle, slow . . . _but even the words came too fast in his mind. _Oh God, oh God, oh God, this is amazing!_

Amy made some sort of little sound, something like a gasp but with a hint of groan behind it. He managed to stop, gripping the sheet beside her to keep from collapsing, and look at her, trying to ascertain what that noise meant. Was she in pain? But just being there, not even moving . . . _I have to move, I have to move._

She opened her eyes, and even in the dim light from the hallway, he saw something new. An original smile spread out upon her face, slow and beautiful, like dawn breaking over the horizon, like she had just discovered the secret to the universe. _I have found my inner hippy and it is apparently inside of Amy._

A whisper, deep and husky. Intense. Potent. Over-powering. "I love you."

It was perfect.

* * *

February 15, 2015

Satisfaction. Not even hers, although she felt herself coming down from a high. Instead, the look on his face. He was so satisfied with himself.

Amy bit her lip and smiled shyly. She said softly, hesitantly, "Was I too -"

"Shhhh . . . " he whispered. Sheldon shifted above her, slowly, cautiously in the soft morning light. "You were only too beautiful."

She had to bat her eyelashes to keep the tears from falling. Instead, as he entered her, slower, more gently than the first time, she started to whisper, all those things her heart had been holding secret for years.

* * *

August 1, 2016

"Amy?"

He reached over and held her face lightly in his palms. "I don't deserve you."

"Please, Sheldon, you promised you wouldn't keep saying thing like that," Amy said gently.

"No, listen to me. I don't deserve you. Physically. Not tonight. Maybe not for many, many nights to come. But . . . " he looked down "I want to lose myself in you. That's the only place I ever want to be lost. Because, and this makes no sense to me, it's like being lost and discovered at the exact time time. It's like the beginning and the end. Where the light side and the Dark Side meet. It's . . . " he looked up "everything perfect I've ever known."

"Oh, Sheldon," she whispered.

He kissed her, very softly, letting his lips linger on hers.

* * *

April 10, 2017

"Sheldon, do you think we should go to bed?" Amy asked.

"It's only eight," he turned, surprised.

"Yes, I know. I just think . . . since Leonard and Penny went to a movie . . . we're alone in the house."

Sheldon swallowed. Yes, they were alone. But - "I'm not sure it's a good idea."

Amy took his hand. "You know I got my staples out today. And that I passed all the memory cognition tests you found on the Internet for me; there are no residual effects from my concussion. And . . . " her voice lowered ". . . my period has been over for two days now."

His heart hammered in his chest. Looking at her beautiful face, the face he thought he'd never see again in the evening light . . . his was the luckiest man alive. And she wanted his baby. And he wanted all of her, even more of her, he wanted her to expand and bifurcate and saturate every last nook and cranny of his life. Sheldon nodded and turned off the television, getting up and following Amy to the guest bedroom.

Once he was there, he stroked her face, running his fingertip over the planes and curves, brushing her eyebrows. He had once done this before, when he thought he didn't even have the courage to let her touch him but he wanted her to know how badly he was trying.

"Are you nervous?" she whispered.

"Amy, I -" his voice broke. "I thought I lost you that night, you know. And now you're here again. Whole again. It's too much."

"Shhh, shhh." Amy pulled him close. He let his head fall to her chest, not really crying, just allowing a tear or two slip out onto her breast. He didn't think he had the courage to be a father, either, but he wanted her to know how badly he would try for her.

He kissed her breast and found his way to the her nipple, reveling in her intake of breath. They didn't speak again, and they made quiet, slow love in guest bed of Leonard and Penny's house. He avoided touching the side of her head, where she still had an angry looking scar. She kept her legs still, careful not to cause any pain to his still very sore ankle.

Right before he climaxed, it crossed his mind this was first time, the very first time, they were making love without anything to stop nature from taking its course. Just a man and woman, deeply in love, finding each other again after a tragedy, hoping to make something new together.

Still there, even with his breath panting, still a part of her, not wanting to ever leave her again, he put his head down on her breast again and allowed more tears to fall. It was too much.

* * *

August 8, 2017

The slam of the bedroom door startled her, but not as much as the sight of Sheldon, still in his windbreaker, suddenly on his knees, his face pressed against her stomach, his fingers a working the bottom button on her cardigan.

"Sheldon?" But her body was already responding. _Stop it! What if this isn't sexual at all?_

"Let me see it. I've been thinking about it all day," he replied. Already, her cardigan was unbuttoned up to her bra, and her blouse was not far behind. There wasn't even time for the air to hit her exposed stomach before Sheldon's lips were upon it.

"See, it's still there," she said softly. _God, his lips!_

"You are so beautiful," Sheldon murmured, now caressing her barely-present baby bump with his cheek. "And, right now, it's like it's our secret, hidden behind your cardigan. The bump, I mean."

"Sheldon," she swallowed. "I don't know if it's hormones or what, but you need to stop that or you'll get me hot and bothered." Her knees already felt weak. "And Leonard and Penny are home."

His thumb was suddenly on the button of her skirt. Then the zipper. _Oh, Jesus ._ . . this was sexual after all. "Sheldon . . . "

Too late, her skirt and her underwear were at her ankles. His blue eyes burned up her brightly, asking. She looked down and nodded. "Oh, God!" Had his finger always felt like that? She braced her hands on the top of his head, his cheek still flush with her stomach even as his fingers were doing acrobatics with other parts of her.

"Sheldon, we've got to move. I can't - be - quiet - like - this -" she could hardly keep her head up. She had never been this close, this fast.

"Let them hear."

And hear they did. Probably on the next block. Not once but twice. Even with Sheldon's other strong arm wrapped around her hips she could not stay upright. She almost fell over in the time it took him to lower his pants and then she was on him. Wow, the third time really was the charm.

Lying on the guest room floor, looking up the ceiling, both of them still partially dressed, Amy thought she saw stars. Then she heard the distance sound of the oven timer going off.

"I suppose we'd better go eat. There's no way we can deny we're having sex in their house anymore," Sheldon said.

Amy rolled away from him, laughing so hard it hurt.

Twenty minutes later . . .

"Oh, lasagna! I'm starving," Amy cheered sitting down. "Being pregnant is hard work."

"Me, too!" Sheldon grabbed the spatula to serve her. "Having a pregnant wife is hard work."

Only then did Amy notice Leonard and Penny staring at them, their arms crossed, their plates still pristine in front of them. "Aren't you guys eating?"

* * *

August 29, 2017

_Oh, Mary and Joseph._ _Oh, Jesus Christ. Oh, God. _No, it was even bigger than that._ "_Oh, Sheldon!"

She thought when she opened her eyes he would be there, but she was only met with the sight of guest bedroom ceiling. Amy raised her head and looked down, but her stomach was just large enough now she could only made out the top of his dark hair. What was he doing down there still?

Opening her mouth to ask, she felt the touch of his tongue again. "OH, SHELDON COOPER!"

Her head fell back in exquisite pleasure.

* * *

November 1, 2017

Majestic. Her arms reached back, beside his ears. Her head tilted back, too, as she licked her pink lips. He could look down, over her shoulder, see her fuller breasts, that growing stomach . . . It wasn't weird or creepy at all, which he had been afraid it would be. The entire sight was the text book definition of erotic. Why was it no one ever told him that? The sight of a pregnant woman, that was nothing special. The sight of your naked pregnant wife as she sat in front of you while you brought her to climax? Glorious.

* * *

April 9, 2018

"Shhh," he put his finger to her lips. "No talking. Just relax."

Leaning down again, he started at her chin, kissing it softly on the underside. She didn't have a double chin, not really, but she had been worried about that, when she saw one of the photographs from the baby shower. He traced his tongue down to her huge breasts, running it along the sides, the angry red marks of stretch marks, even there. Her nipples and aureole, darker and larger now; just a gentle kiss there, briefly, still uncertain how exactly to handle them now that they had a greater purpose. He buried his face in her stomach, fuller, rounder, softer, and, yes, flabbier. Pushing gently with his mouth, kissing each extra pound, running his tongue along the stretch marks here. Down the sides of her hips, even wider than before. Stretch marks there, too; how her body had suffered for their joy! Soft kisses along her inner thigh, where some of her capillaries were closer to the surface now.

Silently willing her not to speak, not to ask, he reached over for the bottle of lubricant. Too embarrassed to meet her eyes that he felt watching him intently, he paused, indecisive for just a moment. Where, exactly, should he put it? He took a deep breath and squirted some on his fingers, rubbing them slightly, his mind automatically analyzing the strange feeling. There was still the fear she would ask about the lubricant; not that it was secret, of course - he'd left the bottle conspicuously on his night stand, after all - but he didn't want to ruin the moment bringing up his doubts and certainly not Howard's name. But she didn't ask; perhaps it had been embarrassing for her, too.

He gently put his fingers where she liked them, and Amy moaned in response. That was a good sign. He stretched out next to her, so he could kiss her face.

"Is this good?" he whispered.

"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Thank you."

He smiled softly and carefully studied her again, learning each of her responses as though it was first time once more, making it last as long as he could for her. If she shifted, he followed her, letting her lead him where she wanted. Twice the barely touched the top of his hand, and he pressed hard in that exact spot. As she climaxed, he leaned closer to kiss her cheek and whispered, "You are so beautiful."

* * *

January 31, 2021 (present day)

It felt like a cliché, the man waiting in bed, nude, for his bride to come to him in lingerie, pretending to be surprised, as though she had spun the lacy concoction herself during the inordinate about of time she spent in the bathroom "slipping into something more comfortable." Sheldon was not a woman (_obviously! look at me!_), but he never thought all those straps and seams and missing sections of fabric looked comfortable.

A real man thought about his woman's comfort, and bought her a jersey nightdress that the could wear on a regular basis. A real man also received the delivery confirmation email and noticed her bag bulging on the way home from work, so he couldn't really be surprised by its sudden appearance in the bedroom. However, the overstuffed purse on the way home and lack of comment from Amy meant that she hoped to surprise him. He'd play along, if for no other reason than she wanted it that way. And Book Club had gotten weird for a bit, and he knew she was having a wonderful day and he didn't want to ruin it.

"Who wants a surprise?" Amy asked, peeking just her head around the corner from the bathroom, her glasses already off, her green eyes flashing.

"Um, I do?"

Amy rolled her eyes. "You know, then, don't you?"

"But I haven't seen it on you. And that's all that matters!"

A small smile. "Good save. Are you ready?"

"I've been ready for five to seven business days."

Laughing, Amy stepped over to the side of the bed bed, one hand on her hip, an extra sashay to her walk. Sheldon made a small sound of appreciation. Sunflowers, the TARDIS, mid-thigh, a deep V in the front . . . worth the wait.

"Shall I twirl to give you the full effect?" Amy asked.

His mouth suddenly dry in anticipation, he just made the twirling sign with his hand. The skirt would flare and rise up, and he'd catch a teasing glance of her wonderful backside and her - "You're wearing underwear!"

"I believe that Miss Smarty Pants was promised a later, so here Miss Smarty Pants is, complete with all types of pants," Amy smirked. Then she ducked over and lifted the bottom of her new nightdress up, mooning him with her pale blue underwear.

Pale blue, black trim, and some sort of gold ric rac flashed before Sheldon's eyes. "Amy, are you wearing . . . _Star Trek_ underwear? Original series science officer to be precise?"

She turned back around. "I bought them the year I dressed as Nurse Chapel for Halloween. To be thorough. And precise."

"Mmmmm, I like thorough. And precise. But," Sheldon raised an eyebrow, "are you purposely mixing your fandoms? I would have thought Miss Smarty Pants knew better."

"Oh, Dr. Cooper," Amy cooed, pulling the front of her gown just enough to let him peak at a hint of blue again, "Miss Smarty Pants has been a bad, bad girl. I think she may need -" she dropped her voice to a horse whisper "- spanked."

"Dr. Cooper concurs." He threw off the covers and patted his lap.

Amy squealed and launched herself on the bed toward him.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	39. Gratification

_**Thank you to Geeky Blue Strawberry for this topic suggestion. **_

* * *

**Gratification (_takes place after_ Two Across)**

* * *

_ A satisfied smile on his face at his partner in crime, he kissed the top of her head again._

* * *

This is what Sheldon knew:

That before he and Amy went on their first "date" (with Penny in tow - how odd in retrospect), Amy had already experienced 128 orgasms. That at least some of these orgasms were at the hands of some sort of electrical device stimulating the pleasure centers of her brain, not at the hands of, well, her own hands. He thought that two thirds was a reasonable estimate. That, based on the number of times Amy brought up some form of physical intimacy during their courtship, she had an active libido. That based on her helpful guidance once they were intimate, she was obviously a woman who knew her own body well. So maybe his previous estimate was incorrect. It could not be denied this knowledge was a good thing; her mastery and lack of prudery served them well, saving time and frustration. He shuddered to think that he could have been considered a fumbler. That, also since their marriage, he and Amy enjoyed what he considered a healthy sex life. At times, based on the comments from his friends, extremely healthy. Thus, in spite of her obvious prior practice of self-gratification, she had him now and surely that was gratifying enough.

This is what Sheldon did not know:

Amy's first lover was named Gerard. He was also slim and pale, but so pale he was a true white. And bright - dare she say, electric? - blue. He was a speedy and repetitive lover, even if he did have an annoying monotonous drone while he was pleasuring her. Before she met Sheldon, she only had eyes for Gerard. After a while, though, she wondered what it would be like if Sheldon were to touch her. She left Gerard in the drawer one night and imagined Sheldon's long fingers upon her, touching her swollen, slick secret. This Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover was slower but calmer and quieter. His eyes were a more beautiful shade of blue. When she climaxed, she imagined those eyes above her. Number 152 was the best yet. Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover started to visit more frequently, and he discovered subtleties and nuances to touch she did not previously know she enjoyed.

Then Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover gave way, miraculously, to Sheldon-Almost-Lover. She had never before been so slick, so swollen with desire. Always after an only-above-the-waist tumble on a Sleepover Night, he would leave her to take a shower. It didn't take long, lying in his rumbled bed, imagining him naked with water coursing down his lean body, and she bite into the pillow to keep from crying out. She wondered if he could smell it - in the air, on her fingers, in between the sheets - when he returned, usually freezing cold but sometimes his skin flushed and hot, but he never said anything. He gathered her up close, squeezing her tight, and they fell asleep. When she moved in, she threw Gerard away. Not only to avoid explaining his presence, but because she'd broken up with him a long time ago.

Real-Oh-My-God-He's-My-Husband-Sheldon-Lover was a quick learner. She passed on all the lessons Imaginary-Sheldon-Lover had taught her and he perfected them. Husband-Sheldon-Lover had all the devotion and eagerness of a convert to any new way of doing things, and if she was filled with desire, she could be almost certain he would be, too. Her hand was only ever used between them, to help him relax and enjoy. To find gratification together.

One night, finally rested, nervous but keen, she asked Father-Sheldon to return to his former title of Husband-Sheldon-Lover. She managed not to cry, probably only because she saw how small he made himself as he hugged his side of the bed afterward, and she knew his pride always took the greatest falls. The next morning, though, he left her for work, shy and distant, and she cried, rivets of silent tears through the mid-morning feeding. Something was broken, and she feared it was her.

Later that afternoon, Ada down for her nap, Amy took a deep breath and dug around in the bathroom cabinet for a hand mirror. This was not something she was going to let remain broken. She sat on her martial bed, and took her time, analyzing each sensation, determining what was different and what was the same. It was easier to imagine Lover-Sheldon now than it had been three years ago. And so, when she saw he wanted to try again, she shifted for him so his fingers would move and gently touched his hand when needed, and led him to the promised land once more.

Now, she had Sheldon, and he gave her all the gratification she needed. Unless he was out of town. Then she would close her eyes and smile softly and imagine him above her and reach down . . .

This is what Amy knew:

Nothing. She wondered, of course, all through their courtship and into their marriage, but the topic was clearly in that file in Sheldon's mind labeled Top Secret. She let him have it, so she wouldn't have to talk about Gerard.

This is what Amy did not know:

He had been a teenager once. Deanna Troi wore spandex the night she passed her bridge officer's exam. He tried to take a shower, to wash IT away, but IT wasn't going anywhere. It washed away in the morning, why wouldn't IT wash away now? His fingernails grabbed the avocado green titles in the shower, and when he climaxed it sounded more like a whimper of shame than anything else. He worked at this as hard as he worked at everything, and each set-back was a rush of pleasure coupled by the shame of defeat. He would be master of his domain. And, at last, somewhere along the way, he succeeded. There was set-back the night of their Dungeons and Dragons game, but that was the only single occurrence in a decade. Running the calculations in his head, he determined he had still succeeded: the whimper of defeat and the shame were still present.

Until, one night, Amy kissed him and touched his face, and asked him if he liked it. This time, though, his hands gripping the periodic table shower curtain, he cried out so strong and loud he feared Leonard and Penny could hear him across the hall. That feeling, that memory of her green eyes and shy smile, that appreciation that she'd left without acknowledging IT, even though he was certain IT could be seen from space, felt like . . . solving an equation.

However, it wasn't good to give into these impulses. He knew he wouldn't go blind, as his mother had forever warned George, but . . . Nope, even after he enjoyed an only-above-the-waist tumble with Amy, IT never being so large, he usually took an ice cold shower, as he had learned the exact level of pain that would make IT go away. Then he would run back to the bedroom, and pull her warm body closer as his teeth chattered, shocked to discover how strong the smell of sex was in his bed. How had he somehow missed that in the heat of the moment?

Sometimes, though, especially inflamed, he found himself standing in warm water, thinking of Amy's moans and her body bucking toward him and he imagined the smell when he returned to bed. He hid his face in the corner of the shower and gritted his teeth so she wouldn't hear him. Still he ran back to the bedroom, still he gathered her in close, to not give himself away.

Then IT had a purpose, the one IT was designed for, and cold showers where a thing of the past. Almost always, if he wanted Amy, she wanted him, too. Once or twice, when his face was buried between her thighs, when the taste and the sounds and the smell was almost unbearable, his hand had wandered down and brushed himself and he considered . . . no, he would save IT for Amy. To find gratification together.

After Ada was born, he struggled mightily, and not with IT. How could the greatest high in his life (holding his beautiful newborn daughter in the hospital) be followed so closely by the greatest low (actually considering walking out the door and leaving them)? Gradually, though, he found something approaching equilibrium, and he waited, patiently, for Amy to join him there. This equilibrium brought IT back. He waited not so patiently in the shower, biting her name off of his lips at the last second.

Then it was awful. It was followed by the whimper of shame. Something was broken, and he feared it was him, that all those weeks of waiting, of only having self-gratification had made him callous or selfish. As hard as he had once worked to keep IT at bay, he would now work to fix this. But Amy, wonderful, noble Amy, helped guide his hand once more, and it was not work after all.

Now, he had Amy, and she gave him all the gratification he needed. Unless one of them was out of town. He would try to wait for her return, and sometimes he would succeed, only to ravish her like the untrained virgin he had once been. But, sometimes, he would close his eyes and smile softly and imagine her above him and reach down . . .

* * *

The darkness, the breathing coming faster and closer to the surface, the sounds of their kissing, the tingle that spread through her body when Sheldon caressed her nipple with his thumb and then started to drift lower . . . A moan escaped Amy's lips when he made contact.

She rolled on her side and flung her leg over his hip, wanting his body to be tightly pressed to hers. She felt him pause as her own fingertips threaded their way down the trail of hair from his belly button.

"Amy?" he whispered, his palm stilled but remaining caught between her thighs.

"Let's do this tonight," she whispered back, wrapping her hand around him. "At the same time."

"Why? Is there something wrong?" he pulled his hand away.

"No -" she stroked him up, just once, and smiled as his little gasp "- it's just that we never have, really. We sort of skipped this."

"Because we were never overly hormonal teenagers who had not taken the proper contraceptive precautions. Or people that believe an imagery deity would think that ringing the doorbell was completely acceptable as long as you didn't open the door."

Stopping, Amy bent her head back to look him straight in the eye. "Do you not want to? It might be fun."

Sheldon studied her for a moment and she saw the slightest tilt of his head. "You know we'll have to shower afterwards, it will be everywhere."

"We'll take one together," Amy purred.

"Very well," Sheldon whispered, leaning down to kiss her. "Now, where were we?"

"Like this," Amy stroked him again as Sheldon found her once more, and they quickly settled into a rhythm, their bodies flexing towards the other's hand, like dancing, like breathing, like loving, finding gratification together.

* * *

**_When Geeky first suggested this topic to me, my initial reaction was a resounding no. I didn't think it fit my style, I thought it would be too explicit, and my stories are about Sheldon and Amy loving each other. But the more I thought about it, I decided it was a challenge, a chance to try something new, an opportunity to mold it to my style, not the other way around. Not to mention the more philosophical conversation about whether knowing oneself well is essential to loving another well. Was I successful? That's for you to judge. Thank you, as always, for your reviews!_**


	40. The Swimsuit

**The Swimsuit (_takes place after_ The History of Love)**

* * *

_"'It's also true that sometimes people felt things and, because there was no word for them, they went unmentioned. The oldest emotion in the world may be that of being moved; but to describe it - just to name it - must have like trying to catch something invisible,'" Sheldon quoted_.

* * *

No sooner had Amy left the room then Sheldon remembered something he wanted to ask her opinion of about the book. It had been such a stilted Book Club, he thought, short and not especially deep - or maybe too deep, that was odd - and he felt a little guilty about it. Yes, the timing was bad with the swim lesson tonight, but it really was the book. He had thoroughly enjoyed the book, he thought the author had found just the perfect way to phrase some obscure ideas and emotions, and yet . . . he had found himself incapable of that same act, of describing why it was so good. At least Amy, too, seemed to be having difficulties. Or maybe she was just tired.

He went to the bedroom, expecting to find her in the closet, removing her swimming clothes, but she wasn't here. The bathroom door was open, so he stepped inside.

"Oh!" Amy yelped, turning quickly and covering her body with her hands. "Sheldon!"

He took a step back, into the door frame, surprised at her reaction. "I'm sorry I frightened you." She still had her arms wrapped protectively around her body, her back toward him. Her swimsuit was one of those old-fashioned dress types. "The door was open. Amy? Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just - I should have shut the door."

"Oh, I understand. I'll leave you to use the restroom." He turned to leave.

"No." He turned back to her voice. "I'm sorry. I already went. I guess I just . . . for a second, before I thought about, I didn't want you to see me in my swimsuit." She turned then, to face him, finally putting her arms down at her side.

Sheldon looked her up and down and then said, "Why ever not? I see you in less clothing all the time. I don't understand."

"It was nothing, just a reflex, I guess." Her eyes shifted away from him.

"Since when is it a reflex to hide your body from me?" he asked softly, feeling that this was a very delicate moment even though he couldn't explain why that was so.

"It's not, Sheldon, I promise. I love the way you look at me. But - I don't know. Because I'm a middle-aged woman and it's a swimsuit, and that combination does something to the synapsis in a woman's brain, I guess." She shrugged. "Even the most beautiful woman, I'm sure, feels fat and ugly in a swimsuit. I've even heard Penny talk about how much she dreads putting one on, and look how beautiful she is."

Furrowing his brow and frowning, as he always did whenever Amy compared herself to Penny, Sheldon walked closer and took her hands. "I think you look beautiful." He glanced down again. "I like how short it is, I can see your legs." Amy smiled at that, so he continued, "And, if I slide my hand in under here, I can feel your - where's the bottom?"

"It's a two-piece, Sheldon, so you can take the bottom off to use the bathroom. It's called a dresskini. They still make you feel fat and ugly, but swimsuits are much easier to wear these days."

Sheldon cupped her naked bottom under the cute little swimsuit and pulled her in closer, against his chest. "No more with the fat and ugly. You are neither of those those things."

"The BMI chart disagrees with you," she said, and he heard the defeat in her voice.

"Well, then, the BMI chart is wrong," he said. "And you know how much I mean that, because I just disagreed with a numerical computation expressed on a graft." He heard her smile and he kissed the top of her head. "Listen, Amy, if you want to loose weight for yourself or because you think it will make you healthier, I promise to be supportive. Or if you want to start swimming again because you enjoy it and it relieves stress, then do it. But please don't do it for me. You are the most beautiful when you are the most confident. I don't like it when you doubt yourself without reason. Most importantly, the BMI chart doesn't love you the way I do."

As always, when he allowed himself to express his hippy-dippy side (_all Amy's fault!_) there was a fraught nanosecond when he worried if it was the right thing to have said. But then Amy murmured "Oh, Sheldon" and he smiled at his success.

"How about a hot bubble bath? You love those," Sheldon said, pushing her away slightly so he could look at her face.

"Mmmm, I need to wash my hair."

"Do it in the bath, with the sprayer. It will be more relaxing than a shower." She didn't reply right away, her lips twisting. "Come on, I'll get in with you." Without waiting for a reply, because he knew she'd say yes to that suggestion, considering how often she proposed it herself even though he always refused, he let go of her and reached over to start the taps.

In short order, Amy was in the bathtub, pouring shampoo on her hand, and Sheldon was joining her. He still would have said he found the idea of sitting in a cesspool of one's own germs disgusting, but the addition of a hose off at the end at least helped him endure it for Amy. Once he'd slipped in to the hot water behind her, he reached up to assist her with the scrubbing of her hair.

"So, you had fun? And Ada?" he asked.

"Yes. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed swimming, really. And Ada seemed quite taken with it. Several of the other children were terrified and crying, but not Ada," Amy said.

Sheldon picked up the sprayer to rinse her hair for her. "How was she with Lucy?"

Amy's shoulders shrugged in front of him. "Fine. Perhaps we were too harsh on her earlier. Of course I want her to be kind to others, but Lucy really is just too immature for her at this age. But I do wish she had a little girlfriend her age, instead of just Jacob. He's going to kindergarten in the autumn, and he's bound to make new friends there and leave poor Ada behind."

Turning off the sprayer, Sheldon turned on the jets to the tub. "Jacob isn't her age."

"You know what I mean," Amy said, leaning back into his chest. Surprised, Sheldon leaned against the edge of the tub, shifting his legs to made more room for her.

"Who's that little girl in her class she's often playing with when we arrive in the evenings to pick her up? Remy? That's a friend her age. If not equal to her level of intelligence."

Making that little noise that he knew well, a mixture of displeasure and, he thought, denial, Amy said, "I'm going to ignore the last comment because the first one is so good. Yes, we should arrange a playdate with Remy. They can dress up and play with their dolls and have a tea party. Ada loves all that girly stuff, for better or worse; I've heard her try to coerce Jacob into tea parties before."

"Remind me to be absent then," Sheldon mumbled.

Amy elbowed him softly in the stomach. Then she exhaled. "This is lovely, Sheldon. You're just full of good ideas tonight."

"I always am."

Another smile from Amy and she squeezed his thigh, before she settled in deeper to his chest. He looked at her face from above, her dark, wet hair pulled back, her dark eyebrows and eye lashes, her prominent nose, those lips. He sighed and tilted his own head back. Perhaps endure had been the wrong word altogether. Actually, this _was _lovely. Inadvertently, he had aligned the small of his back to one of the jets, and, of course, there was the pleasure of Amy's warm body in front of him.

His plan, formed rapidly in the second she confessed her embarrassment to him, had been to pleasure her in the bath and then dry her off and make love to her. However, he found that the idea no longer held it's power to him. Not that he didn't want to be making love to Amy anymore, of course not. If she made just the right move, he was certain his body and his mind would gladly respond to her. But there was something comforting about just lying in the hot, bubbly water with her, relaxing and not even speaking now.

He wondered if he should confess to Amy that he'd added sit-ups and crunches to his afternoon Hacky Sack routine, a divulgement of solidarity to her that he, too, had noticed his own mid-section getting softer recently. New moles were popping up. Not to mention he was lying wet and naked with Amy leaning against him, actually thinking about sex with her, and yet he wasn't erect. Most disturbingly, he'd had to get up and urinate in the middle of the night last week. He had searched his brain for any extra water consumption or the possible presence of hidden caffeine in something he ingested, but he had come up clueless. Between all that and the addition of his glasses, he felt like his body was going to hell in a hand basket. True, he'd taken to using the hand mirror in the bathroom every Monday evening to confirm that he had all his hair and there with no dime-sized thin patches at the back of his scalp as was rapidly becoming apparent on Howard's. And he was still wearing the same size pants, even though he was certain Raj wasn't anymore. Even though Leonard was teased that it was the plethora of procreation he was engaged in that caused the hairs on his ears that he complained about, Sheldon had taken to checking that weekly, too.

And, even though he'd meant every word of his love and appreciation for Amy's body, there was no denying that had changed, also. Not just the gradual increase in weight since Ada was born. Sheldon had discovered, several months ago, that she was plucking out long gray strands of hair, when he puzzled over the accidental discovery of them in the bathroom trashcan. Occasionally, he heard a joint pop when she got down on the floor with Ada. That line that used to only arrive between her brows when she was confused or angry or frustrated was starting to form a hint of permanence. Perhaps, that, though, was his fault, not the ravages of the time.

His fortieth and recent forty-first birthdays had passed with minimal fuss, as his birthdays usually did, but he knew that his lack of enthusiasm on the topic was even greater than normal. Even Amy, who despite her pretending otherwise, actually enjoyed a bit of a fuss made over her on the day in question, had yet to say a peep about her impending fortieth birthday. Maybe that was a mark of old age, the gentle acquiescence to time that snuck up on one; gone were the days of thrilling birthday parties like Ada enjoyed but not yet to the stage of actually forgetting how old one was. Time was ever marching on, and the only thing to do was to quietly accept its power over you and move along with it. It sure beat the alternative.

"We're getting old," he thought and then realized he'd actually whispered it.

"Is that what you're thinking about?" Amy asked.

"Yes," Sheldon confessed, knowing there was no use lying to her.

There was soft chuckle, and Amy said, "I was just thinking that since you've now willingly taken two baths with me, there has to be a way I can convince you to go swimming on the beach some Sunday. I'd like to take Ada."

"Don't push your luck. There isn't a hand sprayer strong enough in this world to wash the ocean off."

Amy laughed. "But the combination of sand and salt water will exfoliate your skin, keeping you young forever!" She tilted her head far back, to look up at him, and he smiled down into her grinning eyes, wrapping his arm around her waist under the water.

"Oh, Amy . . ." he kissed her forehead with a little sigh. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" she asked, the grin falling away.

"I had a plan for this bath. I had intended to show you how much I loved your body but -"

"Shhhhh," Amy soothed, tipping her head forward again and settling back into his chest. She reached down in the water and put her hands over his. "I know."

"But -"

"Shh, Sheldon. I already know. Let's enjoy the quiet."

His eyebrows went up for a moment and then he relaxed, holding Amy in silence. Flexing his fingers up, he hoped she would understand his invitation to weave her own through them. She did. He smiled and tilted his head against the ledge of the bathtub. No, they didn't need the words.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	41. Through the Looking-Glass

**Through the Looking-Glass (_takes place after_ Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)**

* * *

_Sheldon looked down and realized he was soaked in sweat. His skin started to itch at the feeling, but he reached out to grab Amy's arm before she left him again. "Amy? When we have Book Club, you'll be there, right?"_

_"I'm getting really worried about you. I think you should take a cool bath to lower your core temperature further -"_

_"Promise me, Amy! Promise me you'll be there. At Book Club. There are so many books and so little time!"_

_She tilted her head. "I promise, Sheldon. I'll always be there. At Book Club or anywhere else you need me."_

* * *

Nodding in return to her promise, Sheldon loosened his grip on her arm.

"I know you dislike baths, but I really think you should take one," Amy said, very worried about him. "Let's at least get these wet pajamas off." She couldn't remember when Sheldon had last been this sick. In the winter, she and Ada had suffered through a horrible cold, but Sheldon had somehow avoided it. Probably because of all the extra Purell he bought and used. He nodded again, and she started to help him unbutton his pajama top.

"Dad? Mom?"

Amy turned toward the little voice in the hallway. Ada was standing in the open door way, clutching the door frame. "It's okay, sweetheart. Daddy is very sick and had a nightmare, but he's awake now."

She turned her face back to Sheldon, who looked so pitiful. She didn't know how to divide herself this way, between her sick husband and her young child. Not for the first time in the few short years she had been a mother, Amy wished there were at least two of her. She sighed.

"Ada, can you be a very big girl and do Mama and Daddy a gigantic favor?" Ada nodded solemnly. "Will you go to the living room and ask Siri to let you watch something? Will you be a big girl and watch TV alone while Mama helps Daddy feel better?"

Her daughter's eyes widened slightly. "Anything I want?"

"Yes, anything Siri lets you watch," Amy said.

Ada smiled and scurried away.

"I'm not sure that was a good idea," Sheldon said, swinging his legs over to the side of the bed.

"It's fine, Sheldon. Remember how precise you were when you set up the parental controls? Come on, you're taking a bath," she said it firmly, but Sheldon didn't even try to argue.

She helped him to the bathroom and into the lukewarm water. "Is that too cold? It needs to be cool, but I don't want to make you chill again."

"No, it feels good," he answered. He laid his head back and let Amy drip and smooth the water over his warm body. She wondered if she should take his temperature again.

"Lean forward, let me get your back." He obliged. "Better?" She asked, having finished her ministrations. He nodded. She started to let the water drain, and picked up the hand sprayer to rinse him off. Sheldon smiled at her weakly. Yes, even sick Sheldon, probably especially sick Sheldon, would not want to sit in a pool of his own filth. She held his arm as he got out and was about to help dry him off when he spoke.

"Amy, I have to use the bathroom."

She laid the towel down. "Okay. I'll wait outside the door."

"No, go back to Ada. I'm fine, really. I think that helped. I'll just go back to bed."

Amy frowned. Divided, again.

"Go." Sheldon waved his hand. "I'm fine. Check on Ada."

With not a little reservation, Amy nodded, turned, and left. She paused at the end of the hallway, seeing Ada sitting on the sofa, her face illuminated by the television screen. She smiled. In that moment, her knobby knees tucked under her chin, sitting in Sheldon's spot, her hair still pulled back in the low ponytail she had wore to school, focusing so intently on something on the screen, Ada really did look so much like her father.

Amy walked over to sit next to her. "Ada, you put your pajamas on?" They were fuchsia, a long sleeve tee shirt and tight pants covered in simplified and stylized amebas, cells, and even little DNA strands. Sheldon had picked them out for her last birthday.

"I'm being a big girl," she answered, still watching the television, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Yes, sometimes she was so much like her father.

"Yes, you are a big girl. Thank you for helping me." Amy felt another devision, torn between wanting Ada to remain her little baby forever and the desire to see her grow up and conquer the world. Turning toward the screen herself, Amy watched, confused, for a couple of minutes. "Is this a _Star Trek_ cartoon?"

"I wanted real_ Star Trek_, but Siri wouldn't let me," Ada said, her voice full of pouting.

"That's because _Star Trek _is rated PG and Siri will only let you watch G rated shows," Amy explained.

"But Dad and I watch it all the time!" Ada protested, finally turning away from the television to look at Amy.

"Well . . . that's because Daddy is there," Amy said weakly. Ada turned back toward the screen, sucked into any lit monitor in the way all small children were.

Every Saturday morning, for almost as long as Ada had been alive, she and her father spent that time together, just the two of them. At first it was part of the schedule, a feeding at 6:30 and then Sheldon would take her while Amy fell back to sleep. Then it became that they were both morning people. Amy knew she shouldn't complain about this special time between them. They were quiet and letting her sleep in, and Sheldon loved sharing his life-long Saturday morning ritual with his daughter. Yes, he had briefly fumed about the schedule change when they stopped showing _Doctor Who _at that time and switched to_ Star Trek; _but instilling a love of _Star Trek_ in his little girl? He quickly adapted.

But Saturday mornings were yet another thing that made Amy feel divided. She loved coming around the corner and seeing the two of them, still in their pajamas, watching _Star Trek_ together, their empty cereal bowls still setting on the coffee table. However, more often than not, Ada was curled up in his arms, the only other person allowed in Sheldon's spot. It wasn't rational, this weird almost-jealousy. After all, Amy had never seriously tried to sit in Sheldon's spot when he was home. But, with the entitlement of all children, Ada just assumed she could sit there, too; and, this was really the crux of the matter, Sheldon let her. So, that's how Amy usually saw them on Saturday mornings: two very similar peas, curled into one very happy pod.

Amy shook her head and tired to watch the cartoon with Ada. _Wow, this is bad._ "Ada, do you watch this cartoon with Daddy?"

Ada shook her head. "No. We watch real _Star Trek_."

"Do you like _Star Trek_?" Amy ventured to ask.

"I like watching it with Dad. _Star Trek_ is better when you're watching it with someone else."

Raising her eyebrows, Amy turned back to her suddenly profound daughter. "Did you just come up with that?"

"No. Daddy says it. He says it's why he likes watching it with you." Ada looked at her. "He says sometimes he wants you here when we watch, but you're sleeping."

Amy smiled. Apparently a lot more was going during early Saturday mornings than she previously thought. "What do you think about cereal for dinner? And we'll eat it here and watch _Star Trek_, just like with Daddy?"

"Oh, can we!" Ada shifted and pounced.

Chuckling, Amy got up and prepared the bowls of cereal. She had made other plans for dinner - the weekly menu was posted on the refrigerator as usual - but maybe she should experience what she was missing, to see what was on the other side of the looking-glass. Careful to pour only the minimal amount of milk into Ada's bowl, it struck Amy how very odd the cereal on the sofa ritual was for Sheldon. Normally, he was very strict about where and how Ada ate: only at the table, her bottom on the chair, no talking with her mouth full, politely asking to be excused. Was this another Saturday morning secret? Was her normally strict husband indulgent when she wasn't around?

She put out the bowl to hand it to Ada, but Ada got down on the floor by the coffee table.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked.

"I have to eat at the coffee table. It's the rule," Ada said.

_What a strange evening this has been._ She really felt like she was looking at things backwards and so many things she thought she knew well were things she really didn't know at all. But, instead, she said, "Of course it is."

Amy sat behind Ada and ate her own cereal. _Wow, this cartoon Star Trek is really horrible. _She turned her eyes toward her daughter, and watched her precisely eating her cereal and watching the television. What a unexpected creature she was becoming, now that she was definitely becoming someone. When Jacob or one of the other kids came over, they were always so noisy when they watched something, laughing or talking or squirming around. Not Ada. She was always so quiet, so still, soaking it in. This was her becoming her nature at other times, too: the quietness, the seriousness, the observation. Was this the Sheldon coming out in her? He could be very quiet, too, busy with his white board or on his computer or some other project.

Another division. It was nice to have a quiet child who would contently play by herself when asked. But should she be worried? Amy had secretly dreaded the "why" phase, knowing how insistent Sheldon could be when he wanted to understand something. But it had yet to come. Ada seemed to just absorb everything. Was Ada becoming shy? Were they being too strict, after all? Was she too isolated as an only child? What had happened to the chubby little version of her husband, who would squeal with delight at the top of her lungs when Amy would tickle her or blow raspberries on her stomach, two things Sheldon would have never allowed her to do to him?

"Mom, are you done?" Amy snapped to the present and took her last bite of cereal. She nodded at Ada, chewing. "Then you have to put your bowl down."

"Why?" Amy asked after she swallowed.

"Because then I sit on your lap. It's the order."

_Well, that is definitely the Sheldon coming out in her._ But she smiled and leaned forward with her bowl before welcoming the warm body on her lap. Ada fidgeted and settled. She was so tall for her age, already up to Amy's waist, and she didn't exactly fit comfortably anymore. And yet Amy was willing to struggle to contain her. This was a division Amy was already familiar with. Sometimes, she just wanted to be left alone, not to be touched and patted and poked. But there were times, and they were becoming more frequent now that Ada was getting more independent, that she missed her little dark-haired baby that would curl up on her shoulder and allow herself to be rocked to sleep.

Rubbing her daughter's back, Amy said, "You've got your top on backwards. Lean forward." Ada complied and Amy helped her take her arms out of the sleeves and rotate the top around her neck before reinserting her arms. "See the front has a saying: biologists take cellfies."

Ada reached up and touched the image before settling back in against Amy. "We should take a selfie."

Amy smiled, the pun lost on her daughter. "Where's my phone?"

"I'll get it!" Ada was up and back in a flash, holding out the coveted electronic she was so rarely allowed to touch. "Can I do it?"

"Sure." Amy shrugged slightly. It was such an unusual evening anyway, why not allow Ada this little joy? With a speed and dexterity Amy envied, the screen was in front of them in only a few seconds.

"Get closer, Mom." Amy wrapped her arms around her demanding daughter's tiny waist, hugging her and taking a deep breath of her just before the flash went off. Ada lowered the phone and seriously inspected the picture.

"Is it good?" Amy asked, peering over her shoulder.

Turning her heard, Ada looked back at her and smiled. "Can I post it to Instagram?"

Raising her eyebrows, Amy shook her head. "No, you're not allowed on my Instagram app and you know it. But how about I do it and you can watch?"

"Ookkayy," Ada huffed, but she turned and eagerly watched as Amy cropped and brightened the photo before posting it.

"What should we write as the caption?" Amy asked.

"Biologists take selfies!"

Amy chuckled. "It's a pun, Ada. Selfies is spelled wrong your pajamas; as c-e-l-l, which is the word for some of the designs on your pajamas. A cell is the smallest structural component of all living organisms." But she typed it with her thumb, anyway, for Ada: _Me and my little biologist, taking a cellfie!_

"Oh." Ada paused and then said, as Amy stretched around her to put her phone down, "You're a biologist, right?"

"Yes, I am." Then she frowned slightly. "Did we talk about this?"

"Dad told me. He said it's a very important job for you, especially right now."

"Ah." Sheldon had proudly discussed her current study with Ada? The revelations tonight! "And what does he do for a living?"

"He said he could control that ship on _Doctor Who_, but -" Ada sucked in her breath, lowered her eyes, and whispered, "- I'm not sure."

Taking a deep breath herself, Amy considered her options. Lying was, of course, not allowed. Had Sheldon actually lied to their daughter? She didn't think he would, and not just because he was a horrible lier. In all likelihood, he truly believed those powers were only a few years from being within his grasp.

"What Dad means is that he does mathematical calculations that may some day help control a ship like the TARDIS. Right now it's all a theory, and he's working to prove parts of it are true."

"Oh, okay." Ada let out a sound that Amy thought might be relief and settled back against her once more, curling up in her lap, turning her face back toward the screen.

Trying to watch more of the interminably bad _Star Trek _cartoon, Amy asked, "Who is your favorite character? Spock?"

Surely it would be Spock, right? Surely Sheldon had preached his virtues to Ada.

Ada shook her head. "No. Uhura."

"Really? Why?"

"Because she's pretty like you."

Amy took a breath. She knew she should use this as a teaching opportunity, that it didn't matter that Uhura was pretty. What mattered was that she was intelligent and had a career. She was a female bridge officer on the great starship Enterprise, and that was what should be admired.

"Thank you," she murmured instead.

"But Dad says it's important to be smart like you, not just pretty like you. Right, Mom?"

Amy blushed and ran her hand through Ada's hair, looking into her earnest little face. "Yes, it's very important. You should be modest about your body, but never about your mind."

"What's modest?"

"Oh." Amy thought for a moment. "I'm glad you asked. It's a very important concept. Your body is very special, and parts of it are very private. The parts we cover with clothes, remember?" Ada nodded. "So we don't show those parts off, we don't put them on display for other people. Because they belong just to us, and we only use them for private things."

"Like when we go potty," Ada added.

"Yes, exactly, I'm very happy you remember that. But our mind - well, it's also very special, but we should be proud of our minds and we should never, ever be afraid to prove our intelligence to the world. We should never pretend that we don't know something that we really do. And we must always try to work hard to make our mind grow bigger and stronger by learning new things."

"I promise," Ada whispered.

A feeling of great satisfaction filled Amy. She was never certain if she was doing this mothering thing correctly, and certainly her friends had very different parenting styles. She knew that Sheldon thought she was in denial about Ada's obvious intelligence; but rather it was that she didn't want to speak about it just yet, that she wanted to give her daughter a few years of normal, innocent childhood. But she wasn't blind to the fact that Ada was grasping ever greater concepts daily. Amy did not ever want Ada to hide her light under a basket. Instead, someday, she hoped just as much as Sheldon did that her light would shine upon the world. Nothing would make Amy prouder. However, just for a couple of more years, she wanted this little girl sitting on her lap, wearing her silly pajamas. The rest could wait.

"Ada, would you like to watch my favorite cartoon when I was your age? If Siri can find it?" Amy suddenly asked.

"Yes!" Ada bounced on her lap.

Raising her voice slightly, Amy asked, "Siri, do you have episodes of the _Muppet Babies _from the 1980's?"

After a minute, a list appeared the screen. Amy scanned the titles, knowing which episode she was looking for. "'Journey to the Center of the Nursery,'" she called.

As the cartoon started, Amy explained over the theme song, "My favorite episodes were the one in which they reenacted a famous novel. This one is based on _Journey to the Center of the Earth_ by Jules Verne -"

"Shhh," Ada shushed her. "It's starting."

The sun was setting behind them, and the great room was filled with a yellow glow as it always was at this time in the summer. It lit up the top of Ada's hair, make it gleam almost golden as Amy squeezed her tighter and kissed her temple. So the _Muppet Babies _had not withstood the test of time - the sound and video quality were very poor - but for this one evening, Sheldon asleep in the other room, she got to hold her little girl on the sofa, watching television with her, and curling up close, like two similar peas in a very happy pod.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	42. Fireman

**Fireman (_takes place after Marie Curie and her Daughters_)**

* * *

_"A fireman? Really?" he asked._

_"Oh, yeah. So big and strong and he could just throw you over his shoulder as he rescued you . . . " She let her voice trail off, looking down at her bare feet._

_The next thing she knew Sheldon's head was diving into her side, and he wrapped her arm around the back of his head. She squealed as she came off the ground in a rush. "Sheldon, what are you doing?"_

_"You want a fireman, I'll give you a fireman!"_

* * *

"What are you doing?" Laughter peeling out of her mouth, drowning out the _shuffle, shuffle_ of his shoes on the carpet under the weight of his load.

"The fireman's carry. Obviously." A louder, longer shuffle as he pivoted on one foot. Small, tiny shuffles as he squeezed sideways through the closet door. "Watch your head."

_Laughter, shuffle, laughter, shuffle._ Long shuffle again, but wider as he swung in a circle in the middle of the bedroom. "The floor?"

"Carpet burn?" More laughter.

A grunt of amusement. "Good point."

Another wide, swinging shuffle. The muffled _slap_ as Amy's hand swatted his bottom through his pants. "Oh, just put me on the bed!"

"No, I'm rescuing you, remember? This isn't your bedroom and there is nary a bed in sight." Laughter - so much laughter - louder, faster. The sound of joy.

_Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle_, straight and determined. Quiet, tilting _rustle _of her skin sliding away from his clothes. The sudden stop of laughter. _Wmmmph_ along with "Wmmmph" from her mouth. The firm, plump sound of Amy's bottom hitting the top of the dresser.

"Shel -"

The _smack_ of a sudden kiss. A tiny squeal of surprise vibrating beneath his lips. The barely sound of his hands holding the side of her face. Smooth _rustle _of her hands, snaking up his chest, his arms, his shoulders. The increase in breathing, strong through their noses. No sounds for the pushing, the pressing, the sliding of their tongues.

The suction of pulling back, the panting. "Mouth to mouth resuscitation. To give your lungs oxygen."

A purr in reply. "I don't think that was the correct method."

"My fire house, my rules."

Laughter, deeper, richer. It transitions into the sound of another smacking kiss. No sound as his fingertips slide down her cheek, her neck, past her collar bone, inside the cup of her bra. Only the roaring in his head when he feels her nipple hardening beneath his touch.

"Mmmmmmm." A moan into his mouth. The roaring gets louder. A _shuffle, rustle_ as he steps even closer, his trousers pressing against her.

_pop pop _Almost silent for each hook-and-eye. The suction of pulling back, the whisper as the straps slide down her arm, the whipping of air as her bra whirls through the air and is tossed aside.

The silence as he takes in the sight. _Phhhlllpp_ as he licks his lips.

"Grrrnnnnn." The wet sound of his tongue encircling her nipple. The _swullllsh_ as the skin of her thighs skids against the wooden top of the dresser. The sound of her pressing closer to him with a low "Mmmmmmmmm."

A rhythmic quiet rubbing sound. In time with his suckles, in time with her back arches, in time with her thigh rubbing against him. It drowns out the sound of his finger walking down her body, the sound of his fingers reaching the edge of her panties.

"Grrrrrrr." A wet pop as he breaks suction.

"You can't be angry. You're still dressed."

"I don't think these are fire retardant." _Swulllsh_ as she shifts again, meeting his thumbs on her waistband. _Tffff, tffff, tffff _as he tugs without success. Then, suddenly,_ rrrriiiipppp._ Loud, too loud as he yanks the newly-tattered panties off.

"Sheldon!" She sounds as though she might genuinely be angry. "Do you have any idea how much underwear at Victoria's Secret costs?

"I'm so big and strong and brawny I can't help it." Bold, manly. The sound of daring.

The sound of her smile, impish and mischievous. The sound of forgiveness. The sound of enjoyment.

Single _shuffle_ away. Rapid _rustle_ as both tee shirts come off in one move. _Thummpffffle _as they land on the floor.

Again silence covering the sound of his appraisal as he continues to take in the sight of her nakedness, her legs still spread from where he was standing second before. His approval. His arousal.

"Touch yourself." Hoarse. Surprise at the end. His own.

"What?" The sound of shock.

A deep swallow, the sound of which reaches the bottoms of his ears. "Touch yourself." Firm. Determined. Challenging.

A pause. The sound of trust crackling in the air as they gage each other. He believes he can hear the green embers burning in her eyes.

"Wwwwwwwoooooo." A deep breath out. "Mmmmmmm." She makes contact.

Another swallow reverberates through his jaw.

_Jangle, jangle_ of his belt. _Pop_ of the button. _Zzziiiiiiiipppppp._ In rapid succession, with an urgent need.

_squish, squish, squish _The faint, wet rhythmic sound. Panting though parted pink lips.

_Thump! Thump! _First one shoe is kicked away, then the next._ Plllummffffh_ as everything else falls at his feet.

"Wait." _Shuffle_ step. Her eyes open and the sound of the embers return even as the liquid sound of motion stops. "I think I'm supposed to be rescuing you."

_Smack_ as his lips capture her again.

"Mmmmmmm." Into his mouth as his hand falls over her, sitting the pace for her. _squish, squish, squish_. The roar in his ears, pulsing with rhythm of his tongue, of their hands, as his entire body with the faint_ rrbb, rrbb, rrbb_ of himself as he rubs against the back of his hand.

Sudden silence._ Squuuaaassshhh._ "Ohhhh!" This from both of them as he pulls their hands away and enters her without warning.

"The fire hose." His mumble.

A sudden stop in movement. "Nnn" from Amy as she looks up him. "No, don't say that. That's awful."

"I don't think I'm very good at this."

"Don't say that again, and you'll be just fine." Soothing, soft. She pulls him closer.

"Oh, Amy." Not words so much as a moan, muffled by her lips. The gentle slap as his palm makes contact with her thigh, tugging her right leg higher. "Grrrnnnn" as he is able to find his way deeper into her. The damp rhythm is no longer faint.

_knock_ Her head barely makes a sound as it hits the wall behind her. A sudden noise of air, as he his other hand reaches cup to hold the back of her head. knock, knock, knock of his knuckles against the drywall_. rrrrrbbbbbbbb _of skin as Amy wraps herself around him, locking both legs behind him and massages his back in time with his thrusts. Forward, up on the balls of his feet, rocking back down again; the silent metronome in his brain, in his muscles, remembering the steps to this exact waltz.

"Is this good?"

"Oh, yes. Mmmmmmmm. It's fiery hot."

"You vixen. I don't think you're very good at this, either."

"Hunnnmmmm." The unusual noise of a chuckle mixed with a moan of pleasure right next to his ear, one most erotic things he's ever heard.

"Amy - I'm -" The words cannot form.

"Ah, ah, ah, Shelllldddoonnn!" Amy explodes around him, throwing her head back, forcing his knuckle into the wall behind her with a loud WHACK_._

"GRRRRRRRNNNNNNNN!" The roar of pleasure as it shouts through his body, and it bolts out his lungs.

Panting. Heavy, full of air._ Ppphhh._ A gentle kiss. _Pppllfff _as Amy's legs fall beside him. More panting, louder, coarser, pulsing through his head as he leans his forehead against her shoulder.

_Ssss, sssss, ssssss _The soft scintillating sound of his hair being messed by Amy's gentle hands.

"What was that? Besides wonderful," she adds in a rush.

"A quickie? Not really angry sex. Make-up sex? Minimally successfully role-playing?"

A chuckle, her jaw tickling his ear. "No, I meant when you asked me to . . ."

Rapid _shuffle_ as he adjusts his feet to stand up straight, to look in her face. "I'm sorry."

"No, no." The smooth sound of her palm on his chest. "I wouldn't have done it if I didn't want to. Even for you, Sheldon. I'm just curious."

A breath out with his shrug. "I don't know. You were just sitting there, your legs were apart, and I - I don't know."

"Come here."

Short _shuffle_. _Smmm, smmm_ as her hands smooth over his cheeks. The crackle of trust between their eyes again, softer this time. "I love watching you get aroused, too."

_Ssmmummpp_. A very soft, very gentle kiss. The sound of understanding.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	43. Birds and Bees

**Birds and Bees (_takes place after _Lord of the Flies)**

* * *

_"I think you look beautiful, Penny. Like Mother Earth," Amy cooed. Sheldon snorted. She looked liked the ghost of a beached whale. "Are you sure you're up to this?" Amy continued._

_Their blonde friend reached down to rub her rounded frame as they walked to the dining room. "Sure. I feel great. And I'm beyond ready. We've been on hiatus for three weeks now, and I just feel like I'm spending all my time waiting. Although, not for long. If I don't go on my own this weekend, the doctor said we'd induce Monday."_

* * *

Having reached the next to last paragraph in the chapter, Sheldon took a breath.

"Dad?" Ada suddenly asked, leaning against his shoulder in her bed. "I have a question."

"Yes?" He looked down at her, debating if this was a time he should talk to her about how rude it was to interrupt people. Sometimes, too often, on Friday nights, she allowed the immaturity of the other children to rub off on her and they returned home from Leonard and Penny's with someone other than their _homo novus_. And this week, especially, it had been near chaos in the playroom, as the newly placed Jane Austen bandage on her arm testified. However, if she had a question about the book - or science, of course - it behooved him to broker her curiosity.

"Where do babies come from?"

Sheldon dropped the book with a gasp. "What?"

Ada looked up at him. "Where do babies come from?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh . . . " Just at that moment he heard the sound of Amy's steps and he called out loudly, "Amy! Amy!"

The footfalls became a jog and Amy's face, her brow already deeply furrowed, appeared at the bedroom door. "What's wrong?"

"Uh . . . uh . . . " He pointed helplessly toward . . . nothing, really.

"Mom, where do babies come from? I think Dad doesn't know."

The last sentence struck Sheldon like a slap, and he blinked out of his trance and looked back down at his daughter. "Ada, I assure you I most certainly have experien -"

"Shh, Sheldon," Amy said quickly. He looked back at her as she approached the bed, how her face had shifted from a furrow to a twinkle in her eyes and the obvious biting of her lips. She brushed her hand against the bottom of his legs, and he moved them so she could sit on the edge of the bed. "Ada, where do _you_ think babies come from?"

"Jacob says Aunt Penny has a baby growing in her stomach," she said.

"Ah, I see. Well, yes, Aunt Penny is growing a baby in her body. That's where babies come from, the mother works very hard for nine months to grow the baby," Amy said with a calmness and smoothness Sheldon envied. He knew he was staring at her, and he didn't care.

"In her stomach? With the food?" Ada asked.

Amy smiled. "No, not in her stomach. Remember when you learned about some of the organs in your body from your puzzle, like your stomach?" Amy touched her abdomen. "And your heart that beats and pushes the blood around?" She touched her chest. Ada nodded. "Mommies have another organ, a very special organ, where the baby grows. It's called the uterus."

"Girls have them but not boys?" Ada asked. "Like private parts?"

Sheldon wished he had another book to drop. When had that conversation happened? Frantically searched his memory, he realized that conversation must have occurred outside of his presence. He kept staring at Amy, so clearly in control of this situation, suddenly so overwhelmingly grateful to her that she had undoubtedly arranged it that way.

"Exactly," Amy said simply and, for the first time since sitting on the edge of the bed, flicked her eyes up to Sheldon's.

"Oh. Okay." He felt Ada shrug next to him, but he kept looking in awe at his brilliant, prepared, enlightened, and not the least embarrassed wife.

"Dad? Dad?" He shuddered back to the tugging on his tee shirt sleeve. "Keep reading."

"Oh, yes," he said, ignoring Amy's chuckle as she got up and walked away.

A few minutes later - and not a second too soon - Sheldon was able to extricate himself from the hothouse that was Ada's bedroom and run to the great room. Amy was in the dining area, standing at the table, folding laundry. He slipped his arms around her waist, leaning in close, squeezing her tight. "You're a genius, you know that?"

"That's why you married me," Amy said.

"That was so - so - well, brilliant doesn't seem to cover it," he said into her hair.

"Astute? Perceptive? Masterly? Nimble?" she replied, putting one of his tee shirts on the top of a very straight stack. Painfully straight, and she stopped to readjust it. Sheldon took a second to feel loved at how well she knew him.

"Mmmmm," Sheldon kissed her temple, just below the ear piece of her glasses, "you know how I love all of those things."

"Later." Chuckling, Amy pushed him away gently as she rotated in his arms. "Seriously, Sheldon, you cannot act that way when she asks you something uncomfortable. Don't act like it's dirty or taboo."

"But it is taboo to a three year old! And for, what?, the next thirty years or so?" Sheldon backed away further.

Amy smiled softly. "I mean that if you act that way, it only gives it power, making it seem tantalizing and mysterious."

"Expound," Sheldon said, crossing his arms.

"Well, hmm, it's like in all those gothic romances. You know, 'you can go anywhere but the east wing.' And where does the heroine invariably run the first chance she gets? Straight to the east wing." Her eyes brightened. "Like in all the Harry Potter's: don't go to the Forbidden Forest, don't go to the Shrieking Shack or Knockturn Alley. And they all end up there sooner than they should."

Sheldon tilted his head and considered the validity of her explanation. "What should I say? You've obviously been discussing procreation with her."

"No, not procreation. That was a first." Amy turned her hands out slightly. "But I answer questions when she asks. And I purposely bring up topics like modesty and privacy. What things she should discuss with us." Amy shrugged. "Just answer her question. It may be hard, but she isn't looking for and doesn't need a highly detailed scientific lecture right now. It might be helpful to ask what she thinks; that will give you a big clue to what type of answer she wants. Just calmly and simply answer her exact question, I guess. Don't worry about extraneous information right now."

Overcome with a feeling of indebtedness, Sheldon reached for her face and held her cheeks beneath his palms. "You're the wisest person I've ever met." He kissed her softly. "And, yes, that's exactly why I married you."

* * *

"Oh, look, Ada," Amy said, as she scanned her Facebook feed a few nights later, "Aunt Penny added new pictures of baby Fox."

She ignored the half-strangled noise Sheldon made every time the baby's name came up in conversation. ("Fox, like the animal?" he had groused. "Actually, Penny said Leonard picked it. I think it's after Fox Mulder. I thought you'd approve of such a source," Amy had replied with a smirk. "Hhmmpph," was his only reply.) Ada leaned over her lap as Amy tilted the iPad to show her the pictures. "Isn't he cute?"

"When do I get to see him?" Ada asked.

"Probably in a couple of weeks. Penny is very tired. She needs time at home with Uncle Leonard and Fenny and Frannie first. Everyone else is coming here Friday night for dinner to give them time alone. You'll like that," Amy explained. What she did not say was that she was going to Penny's, alone, tomorrow evening to share in the ritual of telling birth stories and to take great lungfuls of Fox's new baby scent and to allow herself some misgivings. Until she returned home to Ada and Sheldon, deep in the midst of some blithe activity; they would welcome her with matching silly grins, and any possible regrets she may have had would evaporate in an instant of love.

"Mom, how did the baby get out of Penny's uterus?" Ada asked.

"That's an excellent question, Ada. I think your father would love to tell you," Amy said, looking over the top of Ada head, to Sheldon pretending to flip through a comic book on the other end of the sofa, even though she was certain he was attuned to every word of their conversation. She saw his eyebrows dart up alarmingly high and then a huge, audible swallow.

"Dad?" Ada asked, turning and squirming closer to him.

"Uh, well, yes, that's an excellent question," Sheldon said, licking his lips. Amy smiled as he slowly lowered his comic book. Well, at least he'd managed a complete sentence. And he hadn't dropped anything yet. "Uh -" his eyes flicked up to her and she nodded quickly "- oh, yes, how do you think it happens?"

"Jacob says the mommy goes the hospital and comes home with a baby," Ada said.

"Oh. Yes. That's it. Precisely. The mommy goes the hospital and comes home with a baby," Sheldon said quickly, too quickly, and turned back to his book.

Before Amy could even start to clear her throat, Ada asked, "But how? What happens at the hospital?"

There was a mumble of something and then Sheldon turned back to his daughter. "Uh . . . the mommy goes to the hospital - and the daddy, too - and, uh, they're in a hospital room and . . . um . . . there's a doctor there . . . and, uh, the mommy lays down . . . oh! the doctor helps the mommy get the baby out!" He let out a deep breath and Amy bite her lip.

"Like an operation?"

"Sometimes. And sometimes . . . uh, well, it's a very complex medical process, really, a lot things happen at once. Medical doctors go to school for many years to learn how to do it. It's very . . . overwhelming," Sheldon explained.

"Oh, okay," Ada said and then turned back to Amy. "Are there more pictures of Fox?"

Amy looked over at Sheldon and give him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. It wasn't perfect, of course, but his answer contained only truths and it seemed to satisfy Ada for now.

"Listen, Ada," Amy ran her hand along her daughter's shimmering hair. "Mom and Dad are very happy you're such good friends with Jacob and that you enjoy talking to him. But remember when we talked about privacy?" Ada nodded, looking at her seriously. "Well, questions about your body are private questions, just as your body is private. Unless it's an emergency - do you remember what that is?"

"When you need help from an adult right away."

"Exactly. So, unless it's an emergency, you should talk to only Mom or Dad or your doctor about your body, okay?"

"But it's not my body!" Ada said.

Amy fought her frown away. How could their three-year-old be so logical at the worst times? "Well, no, it's not. But," Amy took a deep breath, "when a mommy and daddy decide to have a baby, that's a personal decision. And the growing of the baby and having the baby at the hospital, those are all private things."

"Okay. I'll remember," Ada said and then she tilted over the iPad again, pointing, "What's that?"

Smiling, Amy allowed the conversation to return to safer ground.

Later, crawling into to bed next to Sheldon, she said, "I was very pleased with your response to Ada tonight."

Sheldon sighed deeply as Amy turned off her lamp and snuggled up closer to him. "You were much better than me."

"Maybe. Maybe not," Amy smiled in the dark. "I admit she threw me for a loop when she correctly pointed out it wasn't her body we were discussing."

"You didn't act like it," Sheldon rolled on his side and wrapped his arm around her.

"Perhaps that's the secret. You just need to act confident, regardless of your inner confusion. Maybe that's the secret to all of parenting."

"Hmmphh," Sheldon murmured. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard since baby Fox."

Chuckling into his chest, Amy said, "Yes, but just like baby Fox, you can't change it."

* * *

"It's for me!" Ada yelled, waving the red envelope in the air. They had all just returned home, and Ada had, as usual, had been given the job of holding the mail on the way up in the elevator.

"Oh, is it another card from Grandmother Fowler?" Amy asked, stepping away from the closet to look over Ada's shoulder. Her mother sent Ada a card for each and every holiday for as long as she'd been alive. Of course, Ada knew her name in print and always got so excited to open them. But it was only early December, earlier than she usually sent the Christmas card.

"No, look, Ada, it's for all of us. See?" Amy put her finger on the envelope. "Sheldon, Amy, _and_ Ada Cooper. And look at the stamp. Do you know who that man is? That's King Charles of Britain. That means this card is from from Britain."

"I wanted it to be for me," Ada sounded disappointed.

Amy pulled out a dining chair and sat down, pulling Ada up on her lap. "It's okay, you're correct that it ends with your name. And it is for you, just with Mom and Dad, too. We'll share it. Go ahead and open it."

As Ada opened the envelope, Sheldon came to stand next to them, peering over Amy's shoulder. It took longer than it should have, a combination of Ada's smaller hands and her inherited factitious need to not tear the envelope. Finally, a card was revealed with a picture of Faisal and Oliver and their new little girl, Yasmine, in one of the pods of the London Eye, the city behind and below them.

Smiling broadly, Amy said, "A Christmas card. Our first of the year. 'Wishing you a season of blessings and love,'" she read. "You know who they are."

"Faisal and Oliver and Yasmine," Ada said. "What's a blessing?"

"A blessing is a very, very good thing that happens and makes you incredibly happy. Faisal and Oliver are blessed to have Yasmine now. They waited a long time for her," Amy said. Kissing the top of her own daughter's head, Amy remembered all the emails from Faisal about their long and onerous adoption process. But five months earlier, they were matched with beautiful five year old Yasmine and they had traveled to Syria, that in itself a difficult journey, to bring her home. "After dinner, we'll punch a hole in it and hang it on the Christmas tree together, okay? Right now, let's get your jacket off."

The evening fell into its normal routine with Ada playing and Sheldon working at his white board until Amy called them to the table for dinner. It occurred to Amy that Ada seemed quieter than usual, but Sheldon was telling a lengthy story, so maybe that was the cause.

Having just said something in reply to the end of Sheldon's story, Amy was about to add an additional comment when Ada suddenly said, "How did Faisal and Oliver get a baby?"

"They didn't get a baby, you know that. Yasmine is five. They adopted her from an orphanage for children whose parents had died," Amy said.

"So Yasmine had a mommy?"

"Yes, of course." Amy did frown, then, hoping she was't going to have to explain the politics of the Middle East to her three-year-old.

"Owen has two mommies," Ada said, referencing one of her classmates.

Sheldon squirmed in his seat, but Amy ignored him. "Yes, he does. Sometimes two women or two men fall in love and get married. Or live together. Like Uncle Raj and Stuart."

Ada nodded and stirred her sweet potato soup, but in an absent minded manner. Amy watched her for a second, and then turned toward Sheldon, "Did you -"

"Which mommy did Owen grow inside of?" Ada asked.

Raising her eyebrows, Amy turned. "I don't know. It does't matter, because they both love him. Besides, that's a very private question. Remember when we talked about having a baby is a private thing?"

"But Raj and Stuart won't have a baby, because they're daddies, right?"

"Um, well, not exactly. If Raj and Stuart ever decide they want a baby, they might get a baby or even a child like Faisal and Oliver did, a child whose mommy and daddy can't take care of it for some reason. Or," Amy took a deep breath, "they might make an arrangement for a mommy to grow the baby for them. But, again, that's a very private decision for Raj and Stuart and you should not be asking them about it. It would be rude."

"So a mommy moves in with them?" Ada asked.

"No, the mommy lives in her own house." Sheldon squirmed louder and Amy wished she could join him. "Then, after the baby is born at the hospital, the baby lives with the two daddies and the mommy doesn't. Usually, though, the mommy remains friends with the daddies and the daddies send pictures to the mommy about the baby as it grows up."

"Oh." Another contemplative stir of the soup. Then another. "How does the baby get inside the mommy?"

Sheldon dropped his spoon. Amy took a deep breath. Fortunately, she had known that question would only be a matter of time and she was prepared. Sort of. She hadn't factored in homosexual parentings. "When a man and a woman decide they want a baby, there is a very special, very private hug they do. The daddy has half a baby seed and the mommy has half and the two halves come together from the special hug and the baby starts to grow."

Holding her breath, Amy watched Ada's face carefully as she absorbed this new information. "It's a private hug for adults?" Ada asked.

"Yes, exactly. Very old, very mature adults. Exceedingly private," Sheldon said too loudly, having retrieved his spoon and holding it up to make his point.

"And you and Dad did the hug to make me?" Ada asked.

Over the clatter of Sheldon's spoon falling again, Amy smiled and said, "Yes, we did."

"So Raj or Stuart would have to give a mommy the special hug?"

Amy shook her head, "No. A doctor can also take the daddy's seed out and put it with the mommy's seed. Um," Amy took a breath, "it's a very complex medical procedure."

Shaking her head, Ada buried her spoon in her soup. "It sounds too complicated," she sighed.

Unable to help it, Amy burst out into peels of laughter.

* * *

He pulled her hair from her shoulder and rested his head there. "I feel the need to create a new word to fully describe your excellence and acumen in childrearing."

Amy smiled, looking up from her Kindle. "You'd better make it good. Lots of syllables. Almost impossible to properly pronounce."

"Only the best for you," Sheldon whispered, pulling the edge of her nightgown away to kiss her neck.

"What are you doing?" Amy asked, although she knew full well, having seen his naked form out of the corner her eye as he got into bed.

"I heard a rumor about an exceedingly private and very special hug I thought we'd give a try," he whispered, reaching to unhook the top button of her night gown.

Chuckling, Amy shut her Kindle, took off her glasses, and set them both on her end table. "I've heard it's complicated."

"It's a good thing you're so brilliant." Another button. "Astute." Another button. "Perceptive," he whispered in her ear just before his mouth surrounded her ear lobe. "Nimble." Amy took in a deep breath as his hand slipped down her chest to toy with her breast. "Oh, wait, that's me."

Turning her head, Amy met his lips.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**

**_And, for those of you who asked last week, yes, Jane Austen bandages are real, and you can find them at gonereading .com; just search for Jane Austen bandages. Enjoy!_**


	44. The Almost-End

**The Almost-End (_takes place significantly after _****Mosaic_)_**

* * *

_"The hours and the miles are not so much anymore. By twenty years in the future, they will be almost nothing. I have no doubt my two brainiacs will find a way to interact. Your words will be heard. Sometimes, you know, they aren't the words, exactly. Every time you sit at the table with her and draw shapes, you're saying it. There will be a moment, and she'll look at you, and you'll know that she knows."_

* * *

It is not the end. But it is that moment, that tipping point near the end, when all becomes clear. All the things that have come before fall perfectly into place: hopes, dreams, sorrows, disappointments. If it were a story, it is the moment when everything is explained, the second the reader understands where it has been leading. All the various strands, the hints that have been placed before, are woven together and the design is now visible. It all crystalizes in one consummate moment: be it a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, a day. It is not the end, not yet. There is still more, some dialogue, maybe some laughter or heartache, perhaps an epilogue. But it is the almost-end that is her favorite. Even the almost-ends that have not happened yet.

For Amy, the almost-end is still far in the future. It will take place in Stockholm.

They go out early, because it will be dark by the middle of the afternoon. But for now, it is a bright, sunny, crisp morning. There is snow on the ground, and they are huddled in coats and gloves. Their breath hangs in the air as it escapes their mouths. Amy doesn't mind the cold, although she enjoyed it more as a college student than as a senior citizen. Still, she wraps herself around Sheldon's arm, to warm them both.

Amy concentrates on the young couple walking in front of them. Such a mismatched pair, by looks. The woman is so much taller than the man, and her height is only accentuated by a massive braid looped around the very top of her head. Even though it is not blonde, Amy suspects it is a nod to this country in which they are walking. All she needs is candles on her head, and she will be Saint Lucia, lighting the way. It could seem silly, like a costume or an insult. But not on her.

They saw her yesterday, too, at her lecture. They have gone to all the lectures, of course. Sheldon has been recognized at most of them, not just physics as is expected. Amy was only recognized at the medical lecture; that, also, doesn't surprise her in the least. The woman was wearing a suit, then, with cat-eyed glasses, but not a modern suit. It was like something out of that ancient television show, _Mad Men_. Her hair was twisted up into a classic, if massive, French twist, and she wore a broach that was a golden steampunk robot. It was, oddly, perfect. She spoke evenly, with certainty.

The woman seems to glide with equal surety this morning, but the man beside her seems to bounce a little in his steps. He fidgets with his hands. Then the woman reaches out to take his hand, and they share a look of love. For there is no doubt this unusual couple is deeply in love. Amy wants to envy them, the certainty of finding one's soulmate at such a young age, but she cannot. Here, at the almost-end, she is walking with her soulmate, too, and that is all that matters.

The beautiful woman turns her face back, sunglasses shielding her eyes. She gives a tiny wave and smiles, before the young couple turns on to a side street.

"Where are they going?" Sheldon asks. She can hear the disappointment in his voice; he does not like to be left out, despite the years of protests that he is an island.

"I don't know. Weren't you ever young and in love once?"

"Not once," Sheldon grunts. "Still."

He doesn't look at her when he says it, but Amy looks up at him, anyway. She is uncertain if he is referencing the being young or the being in love. It could easily be the former. Only now is his hair starting to turn gray at the temples. It has taken long enough. For so long, she thought maybe Sheldon really had discovered the fountain of youth. She had not thought it possible, but the gray makes him look even more handsome. There are a few wrinkles on his face, of course, but all his years of rigorous sunscreen application has paid off, and they only add to how distinguished he looks. She shakes her head at it all, and her long, silver braid snaps behind her. For her hair has been silver for many years now. But she does not cut it. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her he liked it long.

"What's so funny?" he asks at her chuckles.

"I was just thinking how handsome you are. How much younger than me you have looked for years. How unfair it all is. In a funny sort of way."

Now he does slow and turn to look down at her. "But you're beautiful. You're more beautiful now than the day I met you."

Ah, it was the latter. Amy blushes in delight as they walk toward the harbor.

* * *

They are drinking tea at the window, warming themselves, overlooking Stockholm's oldest square, waiting for the Nobel Museum to open. Sheldon was adamant they go today, that it will be the only appropriate day of their journey to visit the vaunted museum. They have stood in the cold on the cobblestones to watch the changing of the guard, the snappy blue uniforms contrasting with the snow and the pale stone palace. Sheldon's hands are still freezing when Amy touches them. They wrap their palms around their respective cups.

Amy is thinking of that beautiful, confident woman in the street. "Sheldon? Do you ever think about what it would be like to win if you were young? What would you do with the rest of your life? Would the rest of your career be a comparison or a disappointment?"

He looks at her, his eyes pure. "You would work harder so that you would win again. Marie Curie did it."

It is a simple, straightforward answer; logical, but unexpected. This still happens. Amy asks him a question hoping to prod him into a philosophical conversation, and then he says something obvious in reply. Or, conversely, she asks him what she thinks is a basic question, and he replies with depths she did not expect. Even after all these years of practice, she cannot judge it perfect every time. But it is the attempt that draws her back, it is the endeavor that she loves.

"Yes, but -" She pauses. She does not want to ruin this week for anyone. "No one has won twice in some categories."

"So think how momentous the second win will be."

Amy smiles and takes a drink of her tea.

* * *

Just beyond the information desk, they are standing together on the medallion in the floor, a recreation of the medal itself. They are both looking up. They have been standing and craning their necks and straining their eyes for forty minutes now. But the time is meaningless. Today is the first day it can be seen, mixed in with the other placards moving on the cable above the museum crowds in random order, and they do not want to miss it.

"Excuse me? Are you Dr. Amy Farrah Fowler?" A voice forces Amy to look down.

"Yes, I am," she says to the gentlemen in front of her.

"It's so exciting to meet you! The discoverer of the Fowler-Bonnet neurotransmitter!" he enthuses. "And here on this day of all days!"

Not accustomed to being fawned over as a celebrity, Amy blushes as he continues to flatter her and even smiles when he holds up his wrist for them to take a selfie with his watch.

Wanting to wrap it up, wanting to get back to watching the moving placards with Sheldon, she says, "This is my husband, Dr. Sheldon Cooper."

"Of course, of course. How could I forget? Congratulations to you both, it's such a wonderful day for you! Together!"

"Yes, it is," Sheldon says tersely, his eyes never moving away from the ceiling. "If you'll excuse us, we're concentrating."

Relieved, Amy does not tell him he has been rude. She was counting on it, after all. Resuming her posture next to him, she smiles at the image of HRH Harry Windsor, winner of the Peace Prize all those years ago. Who would have ever seen that coming? A few more placards pass, and then it appears. Amy sucks in her breath, and she hears Sheldon do the same next to her. They watch it for as long as they can, pivoting in place as it snakes its way along the track, until it folds in with the ones that have come before.

She turns to look at her husband and he is grinning, big and wide, that smile with the little edges of his crooked teeth she still adores. Then he puts his hand out in front of him and says, "Dr. Fowler."

It takes her a second to remember because it was so very long ago, but then she grins back, just as wide, and puts her hand in his.

"Dr. Cooper," she says, as they give each other a hearty handshake.

* * *

Cold and sore from the morning actives, Amy takes a mild pain pill for her arthritis and a hot shower to soothe her joints. When she comes out, wrapped in a white, fluffy robe, he is standing at the window, watching the snow fall. Even without his eidetic memory, she remembers another day they were in a strange city, Sheldon watching the snow fall. So many years ago. She watches him for moment, appreciating that he is still as attractive as ever in his royal purple henley shirt. Because, one Book Club Night, he added solid colored henleys to his tee shirt rotation.

She turns and sees their dress clothes, hanging high upon the open closet door. So that's what the noise was while she was in the shower: a hotel employee bringing their clothes from the laundry. Sheldon's tuxedo (she cannot wait to see him in it, looking so handsome) and her dress. Sapphire blue, a lace top, and lots of layers to her floor length skirt. Because, one Book Club Night, Sheldon told her that was his fantasy for this day.

Ada had taken her shopping the day after Thanksgiving, appalled that her mother had waited until the last possible minute to buy this most important dress. The Black Friday crowds had not reached the evening wear department in Nordstrom, and Amy allowed Ada to pull dress after dress off the rack for her. The two she picked out herself had been promptly dismissed by Ada with a curt "absolutely not."

The dresses Ada suggested, although perhaps fashionable - no, certainly the height of fashion if Ada had chosen them - did not suit her, she thought.

"I need the skirt to have lots of layers," she informed her daughter.

"Why?" Ada narrowed her blue eyes and looked down at her mother.

"Because."

Although she sighed deeply, Ada had returned with the blue dress. It was the one, and Amy knew it when she stepped out of the dressing room to show it off. Ada had come to inspect it with her typical critical eye, and Amy said, "Look how blue your eyes look standing next to it."

Ada's smile met hers in the mirror. "Ah, I understand now. Don't worry, he'll love it."

Now, at the almost-end, Amy brushes her hand over the steamed and frothed layers of soft fabric. "Do you like it, Sheldon?"

He jumps slightly, as though his thoughts were elsewhere, and turns. "It will look better on you than the hanger."

Amy smiles and walks over to him, the snow falling heavily now. "I'm sorry you didn't get your wish. No summer solstice for you."

Sheldon grunts.

"Are you nervous already?" Amy asks.

"Aren't you?"

"I will be. It still doesn't seem real to me, somehow." A yawn escapes and Amy adds, "But now I'm going to take a nap. It's going to be a late night."

Slipping off her glasses to place them on the nightstand, Amy debates about getting out her nightgown. Deciding it is too much effort, she just shrugs off the robe and climbs naked into the luxurious hotel bed, pulling the white duvet up around her, closing her eyes. She is not yet asleep when she feels the weight on his side of the bed before Sheldon whispers, "Will it bother you if I read here?"

"Not at all." She opens her eyes to smile up at him.

About to drift off, she stirs when he gets off the bed and she hears him rummaging. She thinks it is for his electronic white board, that he has had an idea that he wants to scribble and send off to Ada while it is fresh. They have sent white boards back and forth across hundreds of miles for a few years now, or even if they're in the same building, debating various mathematical principles. Currently, it is whether the time fluctuations in a wormhole would change certain Euclid principles. Because, one Book Club Night, Amy had foretold that he and Ada would find a way to tell each other they were loved even when they were apart. Amy rarely gets involved, her phone calls to Ada being of the more prosaic mother-daughter sort, although she enjoys seeing Ada's responses on the board, often punctuated with little drawings of The Doctor stretched or squeezed to either prove her point or mock her father's. For Ada is the only one allowed to mock her father in such a way.

But instead of the sound of an electronic marker on the screen, it is the rush of cool air as the duvet is lifted up and Sheldon slides in next to her. She opens her eyes. "Sheldon?"

"My hands are cold," he says, as though that were the entirety of the explanation.

"Here." Amy ignores his lie of omission and takes his hands in hers and puts them between her saggy breasts to warm them, and Sheldon presses himself closer. "A nap will help you pass the time."

"I'll admit I considered that."

Smiling, Amy leans closer to him, resting her forehead along his collar bone, enjoying the comfort he has brought to the nap. She shifts slightly, removing her hands from between them so she can press even closer, and reaches to put her hand on Sheldon's waist, surprised to find it bare. Sensing her movement, Sheldon pulls one hand out from between her breasts to place it on her hip.

Comfortable, warm, held by her love, Amy closes her eyes again. Not long after she becomes aware of the soft but rhythmic circling on her hip by Sheldon's palm. She tips her head back, surprised. "Aren't we supposed to do that after? On a boat in the harbor?"

Sheldon's eyebrows flick in recognition of her reference. Because, one Book Club Night, that's what he told her. "Please, there's no way you getting me on a boat, especially in the middle of winter. You know that."

A soft chuckle escapes her lips as she stretches up to meet his. The kiss is gentle, harnessed. Then Sheldon asks, "Does your hip still hurt?"

"No, I took something for it before my shower." She places her other hand on his chest, above his graying patch of chest hair. "Did you take your heart medication?"

"My heart is always ready for sexual activity with you," he says softly.

Blushing slightly at implied compliment, Amy replies, "That's not what I asked."

"Yes. My heart is healthy enough for sexual activity, too," Sheldon whispers into another kiss.

Although it is slower than it was years ago, their love is no less passionate. Her breasts may not be as buoyant as they once were, but that does not stop Sheldon from fondling them, from rolling his thumbs in that way that always takes her breath away. His posterior may not be a taut as it once was, but that does not stop Amy from grasping it and squeezing it at the height of her pleasure. And, when he enters her, it is still an act of the greatest congruence and love. Yes, it only makes sense that this would be at the almost-end.

Later, after they have both reached satisfaction with the other, Sheldon collapses next to her again, and they press close to one another, their arms encircled, their breath calming, and they fall asleep on this day, the day of their greatest triumph. The day of their almost-end.

* * *

The concert hall is packed, of course. Sheldon holds her hand as they take their seats, because the crowd makes him even more nervous. She is nervous now, too, but not because of the crowd. They have waited to come in, as late as they dared, because they are both bundles of nerves. The young man from the street earlier is already there, seated next to Amy. His is fidgeting with his program, and Amy gives him what she hopes is an encouraging smile.

They do not have to wait long before the music starts. There is the pageantry, the Swedish King and Queen. Then the music swells again, and they all stand. Amy sees her as soon as she enters in the procession. The tall, slender woman they had seen around the city, in their hotel since their arrival. She is wearing a black gown. It has been made for her as a replica of the gown Grace Kelly wore in _Rear Window_. Perhaps an odd choice, but the angles it makes across her shoulders and near her throat are almost geometric. If you knew her, it would make perfect sense. Her eyes are an alarming shade of blue, and they are more noticeable here, tonight, because she is not wearing her glasses.

Sheldon squeezes Amy's hand tightly, as though he is trying to squeeze the lump out of her throat. She returns the favor. They sit. Amy cannot concentrate. She applauds and stands at the appropriate times, but she cannot tear her eyes away from the beautiful woman. Others around her on the stage belie their nervousness by shifting or picking at their clothes. They are an unusual group of people, people not accustomed to such finery and pomp. For they are all scientists.

But the woman sits in the middle of the row, still and calm, her hands with their lovely long fingers crossed lightly on her lap, her unusual and enormous engagement ring catching the light. She is far younger than everyone around her, but she seems older, wiser. It is a skill she has, has had since her childhood. She looks, it occurs to Amy, as though she has been expecting this her whole life. Perhaps she has.

It is not until the woman stands, and Sheldon pulls Amy up, that she realizes they have been talking about her. When she walks to the middle of the stage, to take the two boxes from the King of Sweden, her most stunning physical feature is on display. Her hair cascades down her back, to her waist, a copper waterfall, wavy from the earlier braid. It will be all over the Internet instantly: this woman, this intellectual, normally press shy, dazzling the world with her pose and her hair. It might be an insult to talk about her physical characteristics, if she had not already dazzled them with her mind and her art.

This is it: the almost-end.

It is certainly not the almost-end Sheldon imagined for himself, and it not the almost-end that Amy sometimes allowed herself to imagine, either. It is better than either one of them could have ever envisioned. It is more perfect, more fitting. It would not have been perfect if it had been either one of them first. Despite the outward joy, the other would be sad. It would be a disappointment. There would have been no way around that disappointment, for they could not have done it together. For all their similarities, this is something that does not intersect: there is no room for neuroscience in string theory and vice versa.

In this, the almost-end, though, they have both achieved their greatest wish. They have combined forces to make the impossible happen. The precision, the geometry, were his contribution. The story, the emotions, were hers. In that second, when Amy realizes there is a tear on her face, she wonders if perhaps Book Club had something to do with it all along. Just as the woman takes a deep curtsey to the audience, her eyes catch theirs. She smiles and lowers her eyes into her genuflection, and in that look Amy knows what she is telling them, just as she foretold one Book Club Night. Amy looks at Sheldon. He turns at the exact same moment, a matching tear on his cheek. They smile at each other. They have done it. They may still get their individual prizes; that is a secret for the genuine end. They no longer care, which suddenly feels the way it should have all along. Because this is their joint prize, one cold December day in Stockholm. They both know they could not have done it without the other.

This is their joint prize at the almost-end: She is the youngest winner in the history of this category. She is first author of graphic novels to win. Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, Nobel Laureate for Literature.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	45. Adventures

**Adventures (_takes place after The Thrilling Adventures of Lovelace and Babbage_****_)_**

* * *

_"You thought everybody could read?" Amy asked._

_"Because I just could."_

_Amy furrowed her brow. "Do you mean you don't remember learning? That you could read as long as you remember?" Ada nodded once more. "But what about the other kids in your class? Or Lucy and Fenny? Do you think they can read?"_

_A violent shake of the head. "No, Mom. I mean people like us."_

_Her eyebrows shot up. "People like us?"_

_"You and me and Daddy."_

_"Did Daddy tell you that?"_

_Ada's blue eyes fixed on Amy's and she said, calmly and confidently, "No. I can just tell."_

* * *

Of course she knows how to read. Why is everyone surprised by that? No, she doesn't know when she "learned." She has always been reading, between Mama's hands, sitting on Daddy's lap. There have always been words and often pictures. She still likes the words and pictures together best.

At first, Ada thought she was in trouble, that she had committed an act she did not know there was a rule against. The sound of the broken mug, the spilled tea, but mostly the look on her mother's face. Not long after, there is a hushed conversation between her parents behind a closed door. This means, she has learned, that they are unhappy, although this is the first time she can remember them being unhappy with her and not each other. Sometimes, they will be mildly unhappy with each other in front of her, but if they suddenly leave to talk behind a closed door, that means they are fighting. It is the rareness of these fights in the bathroom or elsewhere that make them stick in her memory.

Later still, Mom asks her read the story at bedtime. Nervous, having never read aloud before, Ada complies. Because Mom is unhappy with her. But she cannot finish, the sense of guilt is too great.

"Ada, sweetheart, what's the matter?" her mother asks, soothing her hair in that way Ada especially enjoys.

"You're still mad at me," she wails.

"No, no, no." Then Mama - she is always Mama deep in Ada's heart - pulls her up close and tight on her lap, even though she has told her she is too big to be held like that anymore. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I should have never let you think that, even for a second. I was surprised and I dropped my tea, that was all. Neither your father or I are angry with you or disappointed in you in any way. We're disappointed in ourselves, that we didn't know you could read, that we never noticed the signs, that you felt like you couldn't tell us or read around us."

Ada doesn't know how to explain what she is feeling, that although she has come to realize that no one else in her class at school can read, she just assumed her parents would know she could read. Just like they knew she was taller than everyone else in her class, just like she knew how to tell time on an old-fashioned clock; she thought they knew because Daddy is always telling her what a little genius she is, because they always teach her new things, because she loves learning all these things.

That reading is like breathing. She remembers when she was given the puzzle of body organs and Mom explained the heart is always beating and the lungs are always breathing and it happens all the time without noticing it. Ada tried to control it, but there was no way to stop her heart from beating even though she was suddenly aware of the thump-thump in her chest. She could stop breathing, but that only made Dad angry with her and Mom got her worried face and she didn't like not breathing anyway. Just like she doesn't like not reading.

After the tears stop and she does find the courage to read aloud and Mom tucks her in, soothing her hair again and asking her to never be frightened to tell them anything, Ada starts to drift off to sleep.

Then, just on the edge of dreams, Dad comes in and kneels beside her bed. "Hey, kid," he whispers, taking her hand in his. "Your mother says you had a rough evening."

Ada nods her head against her pillow. Dad will understand.

"I'm very proud of you," Dad says.

"I don't think Mom likes it," Ada whispers.

"Your mother -" Dad licks his lips. "Your mother was surprised. Your mother loves you very, very much. More than you probably know or understand. She wanted you even before she knew who you were, and she waited for you longer than she deserved. It's hard to see you get older, because when you get older you'll move out and we won't have you around every day. And reading is a sign that you're getting older."

"Why would I move out?"

Dad smiles. "I've never understood that, either." Then he kisses her forehead and stands.

Before he can say goodnight, Ada asks, "Dad, what should my superpower be? For my comic book?"

"You can be anything you want, Ada. All you have to do is imagine it. Goodnight." He pulls his hand away and walks toward the door.

"Dad, wait!" He stops and turns. "Did you know? That I could read?"

"I knew you had it in you all long." A wink and he is gone.

* * *

The tests were easy. And they were tests, she knew it. Mom had not used that word, she'd even made a hissing noise when Dad started to say it, but Ada knew. Words and shapes and numbers. Picture questions like a computer and book were like a paintbrush and painting. Numbers in a row and what came next. She was also sent to a brightly colored room to talk to a strange woman alone. A woman who asked her several times, "How does that make you feel?" What an odd question. She felt like herself.

Then nothing new until the evening Uncle Raj picks her up from school and takes her home. As enjoyable as it is to draw with Uncle Stuart and to play with their new puppy, Otis, that cannot change the stillness Ada feels later that evening. Both Mom and Dad are quiet through dinner and after.

Finally Mom asks her, after they read together, if she would like to go to another school with older children. Ada is not sure what she thinks. She wants to learn new things. She wishes Jacob could be in her class, although Mom says that may not be so. But she is not afraid. Why would she be afraid? She would be herself. Surely Mom and Dad know that, they are always telling her to be herself, to never be afraid to be herself.

But Mom says nothing has been decided.

And the next day, her parents seem lighter, happier. Dad is not so sad anymore. Mom said they would discuss it before something was decided for sure, but Ada feels that a decision has been made, anyway.

Ada wonders what it is, but she is not afraid. She is more concerned with her comic book. Class is tomorrow and she has yet to decide on her superpower.

* * *

Mom says she would fly, so she could go visit foreign countries. "Like when we go to Denmark in May?" Ada asks. "We're flying there." It is the most interesting thing that has ever happened to Ada, and she is almost bursting with excitement to go to this magical place called Denmark.

"Yes, we are. But if I could fly as fast as Superman I could get there much faster. And not have to wait around or stand in lines at the airport. Wouldn't that be better?" Mom asks.

"But where would you put your suitcase?" Ada says. She is serious - Superman has no luggage - but it makes Mom laugh and Dad grin over breakfast, so it makes her smile, too.

Dad says he isn't sure what his superpower would be, but maybe to make those with lesser minds leave him alone.

"Sheldon!" Mom says.

"Like when I go to play at Jacob's house but Lucy won't leave us alone?" Ada says at the same time.

"Ada!" Mom shouts at her, too.

Dad does not reply because Mom called him by his name, and she knows that means he is in trouble. Not a lot, but enough. Ada looks back down at her oatmeal, but not before she sees the corners of Dad's mouth go up. They are in trouble together. That happens sometimes.

* * *

There are seven children in this new comic book class at Uncle Stuart's store. Ada is the only girl, which bothers Mom for some reason, she can tell, although it does not bother Ada. She always sits at the table by Jacob. He is not a very good artist; Ada's pictures are much better, she thinks, but she is glad he is there as he is the only one she knows.

Uncle Stuart asks each of them what superpower they have decided on. The boys say flying and being invisible and laser beams for eyes. Nothing new or unique. Stuart helps them think of names, like The Eagle and Light-Ray.

Ada's heart is hammering in her chest, knowing she will be asked soon. She is hot and nervous, which it occurs to her is what it means to be unprepared. Dad warned her about that once and the importance of avoiding it, but she did not understand. Now, though, her heart thump-thumping in her chest, she does.

Jacob says he would like to make other people be quiet with they yell. Ada tilts her head. Yes, she understands why.

As usual, Mom is sitting off to the side, pretending to read while she really watches Ada in class. Dad is looking through comic books, but he is listening, too. They will see and hear her, they will know she is unprepared. They will be disappointed in her. They will not think she is special anymore.

She can hear Uncle Stuart asking her, even as she sees Dad go to stand by Mom out of the corner of her eye. They are both clearly watching her. Her breath becomes shallow, and she thinks of her lungs, looking like those little pink wooden pieces, gasping for air.

"Ada?" Stuart asks again.

"I - I just want to be myself," she blurts out. No, that was silly. It was not imaginative. Dad said she could be anything she could imagine. Why could she not imagine something else? Why can she not think of anything better than being herself?

But Stuart smiles. "Okay. What makes you special, Ada, even if it's not a superpower?"

"I can read. I'm not afraid." The words come in a rush, again. All the little boys are looking at her strangely.

"So maybe a super librarian?" Stuart asks.

"Dad says library books have too many germs," Ada explains.

"Huh . . . okay, so maybe . . . " Stuart starts and then snaps his fingers. "Oh, I've got it, you could work at a newspaper and write book reviews as your cover. Like Clark Kent."

"Maybe," Ada says. Grandmother Fowler writes for a newspaper. Just last month, she took Ada to the big building, showing her around, the offices, the computers, and even down deep into the basement to see the big printing presses. "But at night I could use books like a flashlight to help people see things and use the books as a shield when people are afraid," Ada says.

"I think that's a great idea," Stuart says. "Do you have any ideas for a name?"

She shrugs. Who else would she be? "Just Ada."

"Okay," Stuart says, coming to lean down and write on her paper for her. "How about _The Amazing Adventures of Ada_?"

Ada looks over at Mom and Dad, and they are holding hands. Mom is smiling and Dad winks at her. No, she is not afraid. She is amazing.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	46. Priceless

**Priceless (_takes place after_ The Little Mermaid)**

* * *

_"I love you for all of this," she replied instead._

_"All of what?"_

_"You, this trip, all you're doing for me, taking Ada swimming, that silly hop-on, hop-off bus, today at Tivoli, the things you said just now. I just hope I love you as much as you deserve to be loved."_

_He glanced over her head at Ada, whose long, thin backside was facing him. She was probably still awake, but she was looking away. He kissed Amy's cheek. "Who do you think I learned all that from?"_

* * *

He never ceased to surprise her with the things he said. The funny things, the outrageous things, but especially the beautiful things. Sheldon Cooper, her favorite sentimental old fool.

Amy squeezed tight against him in the Danish hotel room, relishing the feel of his arm around her shoulders, the gentle kiss on her cheek. There were times that she wasn't sure she deserved him. She couldn't believe it when he agreed to accompany her to Europe for two weeks, even though it meant he would be alone most days with Ada in a foreign country without his work or his whiteboard. However, he agreed with Amy that it was good to show Ada new experiences, that after the stress of her recent testing and the decision they had had to make related to her education, it would be good to just get away from reality for a bit.

Not that he was perfect, mind you. His behavior at the airport had been appalling. And Amy thought she was doing to have to strangle him to make him understand this was Ada's vacation, too; that it was not just all about his agenda and desires. But then everything seemed to settle, and she always found them curled up reading on the love seat in the hotel room when she returned every evening, both of them brimming with stories about their day: the bus ride, the museum du jour, lunch, and swimming. Amy laughed and chuckled and looked appropriately surprised at just the right moments. They had this unique way of telling stories, trading sentences back and forth, the same movements with their hands and eyebrows, and she loved watching them reflect off of each. She was actually jealous of them, they were so clearly have a good time, even though Sheldon grumbled about having to wear swim trunks and dangle his legs into a public pool. As much as she was indulging in the accolades and mental stimulation at her neuroscience conference, it did sound like maybe they were having more fun.

And, tonight! How long had these unseen depths been lurking within her husband? She never ceased to be touched and surprised every time he pulled back the curtain on his deepest, most emotional thoughts. It was not that she hadn't known he was capable of such feelings; first she had hoped, then she had faith, then she believed, and then she knew. She had known for a long time. But every single time, it came with the same level of fulfillment as the first time you realize that your hope and faith were not in vain.

She was content to stay cuddled with Sheldon, but then he whispered, "Well, can I read?"

"Oh, of course," she said, pulling away. The sun was still up in Copenhagen, although it was starting its descent, and it was not yet their normal bedtime. She reached for her Kindle, and sat next to him in the hotel bed, both of them lost in their reading by the glow of their screens, silent so that Ada would fall asleep as darkness gradually permeated the room.

Ten o'clock on the dot must have occurred, because Sheldon took off his glasses, shut his Kindle, and glided down under the white duvet in rapid succession. "Are you staying up to read?" he asked softly from his side of the bed.

Amy looked over at Ada's form; she had shifted once or twice, but now she was clearly asleep based on her breathing. "No."

Taking off her own glasses and closing her own Kindle, Amy slithered under the covers to join Sheldon. She pressed closer to him, enjoying the feel of his body heat next to hers.

"Are you tired?" she whispered.

"I don't understand the question. It's ten o'clock."

"Yes, I know it's ten o'clock. But," she pressed her lips against his cheek, "we've stayed up past our bedtime before."

"I don't - oh. Why are you even asking?! Ada is right there!" Even though he was still whispering, his voice had acquired a hysterical tone.

"Shh, calm down. Ada is sound asleep. We'll be very, very quiet. And slow. You like it slow," Amy whispered in what she hoped was a seductive tone, arching closer to him again.

Sheldon pulled away. "We agreed, Amy."

"It might be fun. Daring."

"Cheap," he said sharply. "It will be cheap. It will make us cheap."

Amy recoiled. "You think I'm cheap?"

"That is _not_ what I said. I said -"

"Never mind," she interrupted him, rolling over to present her back to him.

"Amy?" he whispered.

"It's ten o'clock, Sheldon. Go to sleep."

* * *

Unsure if it was the sound of the shower or his absence that woke her, Amy rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. 6:10. Early even for Sheldon. She glanced over at Ada, curled up in the sunrise. But her dark eyelashes were innocently spread on her cheeks as she slumbered away.

Running her palm down her face, Amy got out of bed and walked to that bathroom, opening the door carefully and shutting it silently behind her. "Sheldon?"

"Yes?" he answered from under the stream of water, as he scrubbed his hair with his fingertips. Being such a small space, only a glass partition separated the bathtub from the rest of the room.

Instead of replying, she lifted her nightgown over her head and stepped out of her panties and stepped into the shower next to him.

"There's only one shower head in here. You'll get cold," he said, throwing his head back to rinse out the shampoo.

"It's okay. It's not really about the shower."

"We're not doing that, either," he said softly, turning away from her.

"No, I know." She bit her lip and tried not to shiver, as she stood naked in the white tub, only random sprays of water hitting her and making her colder. "Sheldon, I'm sorry. For last night. You're right, we agreed on something. I shouldn't have asked you to change that. And Ada was right there."

"I'm sorry, too," he said quietly, picking up the bar of soap from its small alcove but still not turning it around. "I shouldn't have used the word cheap. You're not cheap, Amy."

"No, that was my fault. You're right, that's not what you said. I purposely chose to misinterpret you." Amy crossed her arms to preserve body what little body heat she could. "Sheldon, turn around."

He did so, and she put her hand up to touch his face. "Are we okay?"

"Of course we're okay," he shrugged. "It was just a tiff, that's all."

Amy smiled. "Yes, just a tiff. It's water under the bridge now."

The corners of his lips turned up. Then he said, "Your hand is freezing."

"I'm freezing. Move out of my way. I'm getting under that hot water."

Shaking his head as he shifted past in the tiny space, Sheldon mumbled, "I told you so."

* * *

If Sheldon seemed more quiet than normal at breakfast, it was forgotten when he and Ada were in their usual spot when she returned to the room that evening. The days started to fold into one another again, in the same pattern, although Amy found herself becoming ever more anxious about her talk on Friday morning.

"Why?" Sheldon asked one night out at yet another small local restaurants they were trying. "You were invited. You've received compliments already on your other panels."

"I know. It's just . . . all I have are my initial hypothesis and some early findings. My study is almost over, and, although I think I may have discovered something or the idea of something, another study will be needed to determine if I'm correct. Time and further research could still prove me wrong, just as easily as it could prove me right."

"This is a scientific meeting. The others will understand that. I've reviewed your presentation, you always use the correct language and terms. You are not claiming to have proven anything yet," Sheldon said.

"It's still a lot of pressure, I guess," Amy shrugged.

"You'll be great. Remember, if you get nervous, just look for Ada and I."

"You're coming?" Amy asked, her eyes wide.

"Where else would I be? This is the primary reason we came to Copenhagen," Sheldon's eyebrows dipped.

"I guess I just thought you'd be off with Ada again."

"Why wouldn't I want to expose Ada to the brilliant mind that is her mother? Her mother being successful?" Sheldon asked.

"It'll be fun, Mom," Ada said, digging into her potatoes.

Amy smiled at her and then back to Sheldon.

* * *

"FYI - we have plans for dinner this evening," Sheldon said abruptly over breakfast in the hotel restaurant on Thursday morning.

"We do?" Amy asked, her spoon hallway to her mouth. "More than the usual?"

"I mentioned Clara and her children, whom we have seen every day at the pool?" Amy nodded, taking her bite. "I thought perhaps I should find a way to thank her. She's been very kind to Ada. And helpful to me . . . in regards to the water."

Amy bit her tongue, knowing that Clara had made it possible for Sheldon to never actually get more than his shins wet.

"I thought perhaps we should all go out to eat tonight. Nothing fancy, as the children will be present, but we'd pay, of course." Amy lowered her spoon and looked carefully at Sheldon, who had shifted slightly so that he wasn't looking directly at her. "Her husband is a neuroscientist himself, here at the conference. You may have already met him. You can talk shop, if you like. Or it would be just a way to take your mind off tomorrow."

"Sheldon?"

"Yes?"

"Is that all?" She felt a nagging . . . something.

"Why wouldn't it be?" And then he turned to Ada. "Would you like to go out to dinner with Sam and Evie?"

Shaking the feeling away, Amy took another bite of her cereal.

* * *

"Oh, Sheldon," she breathed out deeply, lifting the teapot from its box. "You really shouldn't have."

"Yes, I should have. I saw how much you admired it. It will be your souvenir," he said simply, but his eyes were bright and smiling in the candlelight.

Amy looked over at him, and her joy was so great she almost felt like crying. Here, on their last full day in Copenhagen, he had managed surprise her yet again. Repeatedly. And not just with the teapot she wanted.

Despite the confidence she felt in her work and Sheldon's little pep talk, her stomach was still in butterflies prior to her lecture. But her loves were there, as promised, and she concentrated on Sheldon every time she felt her voice want to waver. The only time he took his eyes off of her were the few times he had to lean over to whisper something to Ada, to adjust something on the iPad he had brought for her. Amy had tried to find them in the crowd afterwards, but she lost him as various people came to ask her questions and share their excitement at her preliminary findings.

Rushing up the hotel room, she expected that she would have missed them, that the limit of a four-year-old's patience had been reached and they had bundled off to the museum of the day without her. But he was there, standing by the window, looking out at the canal below them.

"Sheldon?" Amy looked around the silent hotel room. "Where's Ada?"

He turned. "She's spending the day with Clara and her family. They are going to Tivoli. Ada will enjoy going again."

"You - you arranged a baby sitter? Here?"

Sheldon's eyebrows dipped. "Do you disapprove? You met them last night, you said you liked them and had an enjoyable evening. You witnessed for yourself that they are trustworthy and reliable people." He sighed. "Yes, you're right, I should have asked."

"No. I mean, yes, I would have preferred to have been consulted before we sent our child off for a day in a strange city. But you are correct I would have agreed. I have no objections to the babysitters you selected." Stepping closer, she reached for his hand, understanding now that he had this planned all week, thus his evasiveness at breakfast yesterday morning. "I'm just surprised. Why?"

"You said you had no other panels or classes you really wanted to attend today after your talk, that the conference is wrapping up. I thought we could spend the day together, just you and I. Sightseeing. I've arranged a private tour of The Royal Library, including the old library, Danish Hall, and The Black Diamond. There's some exhibitions there you'll probably enjoy, as well. After a brief lunch, there's an English language lecture at the Thorvaldsens Museum, and I know how taken you were with that. Then back here to change for a nice dinner. We have reservations." He licked his lips and shrugged slightly. "You once told me that you imagined yourself traveling with your someone someday."

"Oh, Sheldon!" She launched herself into his arms, resting her cheek against his chest.

"So that's a yes?" he asked, bringing his arms around her.

"Of course!" she answered.

And now, hours later, she found herself sitting in one of Copenhagen's nicest restaurants, wearing her fancy dress, Sheldon in the suit he insisted on packing, having had one of the most wonderful days of her life.

"Here, we should put it back in the box before dessert comes," Sheldon interrupted her memories.

"Yes." Amy nodded. They repacked the teapot in its box and slid it back into the nondescript bag that Sheldon had pulled out from under their hotel bed as they left for dinner with a soft "you'll see" reply to Amy's quizzical look. Just in time, as dessert did in fact arrive. Selecting a pastry off the beautiful silver plate, she took a bite. "Mmmmm," she said. "For some reason I thought Danishes were only for breakfast."

"Catering to Americans, I expect," Sheldon said, wiping crumbs off his mouth. "Now even we are guilty of perpetrating this decline in traditional Danish lifestyle."

"If it's this good, I don't care." They ate in that easy silence that accompanies a good partner and good food, until Amy took a drink of her tea. "Sheldon, as much as I appreciate all this - I really do, today has been wonderful - may I ask why?"

Sheldon raised his eyebrows. "Does there have to be a why?"

"Well, no, I guess not, but I know you pretty well and there's always a why."

Sheldon lowered the last bite of his pastry back to his plate. "We were supposed to have a Date Night this week," he said, with a little shrug.

"And? Because this wasn't just a Date Night, I think."

She waited until finished he swallowing and looked up her. "I wanted you to know how much you are worth. That you're priceless."

"Oh," Amy said softly. Despite her sticky fingers and the cluttered end-of-meal table, her hand found his on the table cloth. "I thought we were okay."

His eyebrows dipped behind his glasses. "We are. We were. I promise. It was just a tiff. Amy, this isn't me making up for anything. This is because I wanted to to do this for you." He leaned forward, wrapping his hand around hers. "There were lots of reasons: You needed to relax because this is your vacation, too. I wanted you to know how proud I was of you and how excellent your lecture was today. You've always wanted to travel with me. I wanted to go to a museum with an adult. As much as I love and am proud of our daughter, she could never replace you. I missed hearing what you would say at each museum we went to without you, I kept wondering what you would say. Plus, you wouldn't make me go swimming afterwards. And we really were scheduled to have a Date Night. Why do you think I brought my suit?"

Amy squeezed his fingers and he squeezed back. "I love you, too."

They walked back to the hotel, Amy's arms looped through his, her head leaning against his bicep, Sheldon's other hand carrying the bag with the new teapot. Two lovers on a perambulation, soaking in the last night of their travels together. Before the lengthy and dreaded flight home, before the recovery, before the real world rushed back in on them.

"When do we get Ada?" Amy asked as they got in the elevator.

"They are going to bring her to our room, but they promised not until after nine. I was very clear on that. Nine o'clock at the earliest." Sheldon pressed the button to their floor.

"Nine? So late? After her bedtime?"

"It may be even later, as they may stay to watch the fireworks. But I'm hopeful the late night may help her sleep on the plane tomorrow. Regardless, we will not be disturbed before nine."

The ding of the elevator as it stopped on their floor matched the ding in her mind. "How much time do we have?"

"An hour and half," Sheldon said as they exited.

Amy took his hand again as they walked down the hallway, her heart tripping with excitement. Once he slid the card through he door, Sheldon pushed the door open and said, "After you."

He barely got the door shut behind them before Amy pushed him against its emergency exit route map and pulled his face down. It was not soft, it was not hesitant; instead, it is the kiss she'd been waiting two weeks for, no guilt about the events of Book Club night, only anticipation and gratitude and love.

Finally, their lungs forced them to break apart, and Sheldon whispered. "Anything you want."

"Just you. Naked." Amy grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the bed. They kissed and caressed and tugged and unbuttoned and pulled and unhooked and Amy giggled in the sloppiest fashion, throwing their clothes everywhere, like they were newlyweds.

"Whoever said absence makes the heart grow fonder was a virgin. Absence makes you hornier," Amy said, reaching down the front of Sheldon's underpants

"Amy!" A pause, just a beat for him to moan. "Okay, you're right." Pushing down his underwear, he pushed her down on the bed in one smooth motion, crawling over her, bending down for her lips. He pulled back at the last second and made her reach up for him. "Like this?"

"Sure."

Sheldon grinned and moved his leg, opening hers with his knee, and she glanced down and saw the reflection of his backside in the mirror. "Wait! I have an idea."

Pausing, Sheldon looked at her. "Yes?"

"Get up." Amy pushed him gently and he complied. She rolled off the bed and spotted it crumpled in a heap on the floor. "My dress."

"Are you concerned about wrinkles? Sex doesn't usually make you practical," Sheldon asked, sitting on the bed now, naked and handsome and so ready for her.

"No. Or stains, either." Amy thrust her arms into the dress and wrapped it around her, but she tied it loosely. "I know how much you love this wrap dress. Now, you -" she pointed " - sit there, against the headboard."

He grinned as he did as she instructed. Amy chuckled at his rapid obedience, even as she reached for her glasses to put them back on, because reducing Sheldon willingly to his basest instincts always made her laugh.

"This," she whispered into a kiss, still standing at the side of the bed, before she turned around and straddled his knees backwards. "Then we can watch in the mirror."

"Watch in the mirror? But I like watching you," he protested softly.

"You'll still see me, that's the point," Amy promised, shifting, moving the hem of the dress out of the way, just before she rose up and took him in. He groaned in her ear as she leaned back against his chest. Even before she moved, she took his hand and glided it between the deep V of her dress, moaning herself as he wrapped his palm gently around her breast.

"Look," she whispered, and she watched Sheldon's eyes meet hers in the mirror. All she could see of him was his outstretched legs under her and his head over her shoulder.

"Amy, this is -"

"Shhh. I know you're unsure. And maybe embarrassed to watch us like this. This position isn't our favorite. But -" she started to rock slowly on his lap "- tell me what you want. What do you want to see?"

He whispered it in her ear just before he kissed below it, "You know I always want to see you come."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

Amy felt a hum against her neck even as she heard the rustle of his free hand. It, too, slipped beneath the overlap of her aubergine wrap dress that he loved so, brushing her thigh, and she gasped when he made contact. She never ceased to be grateful for Sheldon's long limbs. "Yes," she whispered.

She watched them in the mirror, the top his head as he bend around her, kissing her neck and jaw and sucking on her ears, even as he pleasured her from behind. She lost the rhythm at some point, but he didn't seem to mind. And, then, when she came down from her climax, the first thing she saw was Sheldon's blue eyes watching over her shoulder, watching her in the mirror.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	47. Personalities - Part One

**Personalities - Part One (_takes place significantly after_ Five Quarters of the Orange)**

* * *

_There, perhaps, was the heart of the quandary: was Ada taking after Cynthia? The thought hammered in his chest so loudly he ignored the little insult from Amy. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? To be fair, his mother-in-law was well-read, she had a very successful if somewhat esoteric career, she was a very intelligent woman, she had a circle of friends that played bridge every week, her house-keeping skills were impeccable, her manners were flawless, and there was no denying there had been at least one grande passion in her life. And yet . . . she was subtly passive-aggressive, she was stoic, there was something vaguely condescending in her flawless speech . . ._

* * *

Freshman

For the life of her, she could not remember why she agreed to this scheme clearly cooked up behind her back between her fathers and Ada's parents. If Yasmine knew one other single person at Harvard, she probably would have refused. It's not like she really knew Ada, either. Yes, there were the photos and Instabook updates on her, but Yasmine didn't follow her or her parents, she just heard about when Abbi brought it up. They had visited a few times, and Ada was okay, she guessed. But if she was going to live with a stranger anyway, Yasmine reasoned, she might as will live with one whom she had met before. But she clearly didn't think this through.

From the moment Ada's parents helped her moved into their new dorm room, Yasmine regretted her decision. It was all so embarrassing: the way Abbi and Ada's mom spent every second reminiscing about their own days at Harvard, the way Dad kept asking her if she would be okay, the way Ada's dad clearly was _not _okay. Yasmine did feel sorry for him, but when she found him in the stair well, sitting and rocking slightly with his head in his hands (was he crying?), she held back and walked away, embarrassed by his emotions. At the last minute, she put a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign up at the doorway to give him his privacy. Blimey, what weird family.

Here she was, finally with complete freedom from her dads, but saddled with a child prodigy who was such a baby. She wasn't majoring in baby-sitting, she was meant to major in pre-law. So she could be a fabulous human rights barrister. Or one of those ball-breaking divorce attorneys; she was undecided. Either way, she didn't need some skinny weirdo junior tagging along, ruining her fun. College was a time for enjoyment and experimentation and Yasmine meant to embrace it, with her fathers safely on the other side of an ocean where their ignorance could be bliss.

Finally, all their parents were gone, and Yasmine turned in their tiny room and looked at her taller but younger roommate. "Well, it's just you and me now, Junior."

"Don't call me that," Ada said simply.

But Junior stuck, long after it amused Yasmine to call her that.

Ada. First of all, one couldn't discuss Ada without mentioning her breathtaking beauty. That hair! Yasmine forgot how beautiful she was. Or maybe photographs didn't do her justice. There was something in the way she carried her beauty, too. Was she honestly that oblivious to it? Or was it merely an act, that she was so certain in the power of her allure that she just acted like it wasn't worth mentioning? There was this way she carried herself: regal, stately, statuesque, refined. Proud? Most girls that tall would have hunched and hidden themselves, but Ada glided with confidence through any room. It drove Yasmine crazy, the way all the boys in the cafeteria turned to watch her when she picked up her tray. Not jealous, Yasmine insisted to herself, definitely not jealous.

That first semester was awful. While she wasn't the bossy, talkative know-it-all Yasmine had feared of a child prodigy, she was decidedly odd. And not just in her particular, neat-freak ways. Like the time Yasmine came back the room and found Ada had put masking tape down the middle to "contain your mess." Ada also moped and mooned about her cat as though she'd left a limb back in California. She had a schedule, and almost nothing could veer off of it. She woke up at 6:30 a.m. every single day, sometimes barely after Yasmine had gone to bed, and was always amazed that Yasmine wasn't up yet. On the first and the fifteenth of each month, she performed every single activity in their room balancing a book on her head to improve her posture, which at least explained the way she walked ("Grandmother taught me how," she explained). She was taking Swimming and Diving for an elective, and Yasmine hated the smell of her chlorine soaked swimsuits. Yasmine discovered completely by accident that Ada wrote fanfiction comic books, and they had a terrific row about it ("Only one person knew my secret before you ruined it!" Ada cried. But who? She wouldn't say.). For all her brilliance, she was naïve and sheltered, always shocked when Yasmine brought home beer or a man. More than once Yasmine purposely left the agreed-upon headband off the dorm room doorknob just to see and hear Ada's shock when she walked in on her and her latest conquest _in flagrante delicto_.

But Ada was bossy over strange things: She preferred silence, and there were arguments about the volume and type of Yasmine's music. Her clothing was absolutely not to be touched as she "had a system." Yasmine's toying with her accent made her irritable as did her use of out-dated British curse words. Yasmine tried to explain to her that she had discovered some boys wanted a Cockney girl to give them a blowjob with their dirty mouths, while others wanted an innocent, posh Princess Charlotte they could pretend to corrupt.

"But it's not even real," Ada had argued, and if she hadn't been so sincere Yasmine would have laughed at her. "You didn't even live in Britain until you were five!"

"Thank you for reminding me of that," Yasimine said tersely. "Being an outsider, a orphan, a refugee!, with gay parents wasn't enough to make me realize I'm not really British, that I never fit in, so I'm glad you came along to remind me. I know all you Americans think Prince Harry just swooped in and saved the Middle East with his peace plan and his sexy red hair, but you know it didn't happen over night, right? And not soon enough to save my mother. Even in jolly ol' England, there were still whispers and looks for years later."

"Yasmine, I'm sorry. It's not what I meant. I -" Ada put her head down, and Yasmine actually felt a little guilty. It was true that there had never been any whispers or looks from Ada, not even any embarrassing or prying questions disguised as concern. Yasmine had grown up always knowing she was out of a place, a minority, and all she wanted to do was belong. But here was Ada, who didn't fit in either, who maybe fit in even less, and . . . whom Yasmine was tasked with watching over, even if those words had never been said to her.

"Don't worry, Junior, I can turn into Bathsheba when I need to," she said softly. Then she added, just for spite, just for the fun of it, to prevent the need to apologize, so Ada wouldn't think her weak, "What you need is to to get laid."

That always shut Ada up. She grunted and returned to her book. That was literally the end of that particular conversion between them, and Yasmine was free to return to rolling her eyes at her younger roommate's eccentricities.

Like those clothes! Didn't Ada know all one needed was a solid black wardrobe accented by leather? At first, based on snippets of overheard conversations, Yasmine thought she dressed that way to annoy her mother. But then she kept doing it. No outfit was too outrageous for Ada, no event too serious. This, too, she managed to carry off with aplomb. People turned to look, and then they all seemed to smile. At first it was annoying and then, somehow, it became entertaining.

Strangest of all was that there was something decidedly different about her. Yasmine tried to chalk it up to her intelligence, her straight A's even when other valedictorians faltered. But no . . . she seemed to live in her mind. How else to describe it? Sometimes, sitting at her desk or on her bed or working on the white board she set up in a corner of the room, she seemed like she was barely tethered to this world. It wasn't shyness, that was clear. At first, during those early weeks, Yasmine thought she was an arrogant, stuck-up bitch. But then she came to realize there was no malice behind her detachment. She was just naturally calm and sure of herself. Ada was honest to a fault, which, while jarring at first, started to become refreshing. If you wanted to know the truth, if you really wanted a candid opinion, you asked Ada. You always knew where you stood with her.

Yasmine spent a few weeks trying to trip her up, suggesting ever more outlandish cuisines and activities, but Ada jumped at the chance to do almost anything that wasn't illegal or loud. She was fearless, which, given her reserve, surprised Yasmine. But once Ada decided she disliked something, there was no convincing her otherwise. And it wasn't that she would sneer while mentioning it again. Instead, she would become completely silent on the topic; it was as though it wasn't worth the time to even think about anymore, that it was very far beneath her high standards. Her detachment was total and slightly cruel.

She could have been French really, with all that cool detachment and je ne sais quoi. All she needed was a cigarette in an ivory holder and a scarf trailing behind her. Which, given her wardrobe, she'd probably have before too long.

At first, Yasmine didn't feel so bad about their conflicts. They were collage roommates, and weren't you supposed to hate your roommate on some level? And Ada had other friends. Well, people with whom she was friendly. There were Sophie and Harper that she went to high school with. But they were too old for her now; Yasmine could see it in their eyes because she knew the feeling. Yasmine would see Ada sometimes, in study groups, walking across the yard, sitting by others in a cafeteria, and she would be chatting or maybe even smiling slightly. But yet . . .

One crisp autumn day, Yasmine came back to the dorm room and heard laughter coming from inside. Ada must be watching television. Or talking on the phone to her cat. But there was a boy in their room. An actual, living boy! Sitting on Ada's bed, while Ada sat in her desk chair. Granted a very unattractive boy. Dark hair. Thick glasses. Fidgeting. As the door swung open, Yasmine stood in the shock. Then Ada turned her head, grinned - a smile from ear to ear! - and said, "Yasmine, look who finally came to visit! Did you ever meet Jacob Wolowitz? He's studying biological engineering at MIT."

Flustered, Yasmine stumbled through the introductions. Then Ada stood and said, "Come on, Jacob, let's go." She turned. "We're going to play mini golf, would you like to join us?"

"Mini golf?" Yasmine sputtered. At least it explained the argyle sweater vest.

"Miniature golf? Putt-putt? I'm sorry, does it have a different name in England?" Ada asked.

"No, I know what it is," Yasmine shook her head. "Uh, no, thanks."

"Okay. See you later," Ada smiled and breezed past her. Jacob waved.

Yasmine turned and watched Jacob and the strange, glowing - there really was no other word for it - creature formerly known as Junior leave their room. But then she shook her head and debated between studying or deciding if she should make a booty call.

Later, Yasmine rolled her desk chair to Ada's side of the room. Which, granted, was only four feet away. "So, tell me about Jacob."

"He's eighteen. I told you he's majoring in biological engineering at MIT. He was salutatorian of our graduating class. His parents are Howard and -" Ada recited without looking up from writing on her tablet.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "No, not the facts listed in his FBI file, like _about_ him."

"I don't understand the question." Ada looked up, her eyes blank and serious behind her glasses.

"Do you like him?" Yasmine leaned forward.

"Of course I like him, he's my friend."

"Blimey, Ada. Why do you have to take every thing at face value all the time? I mean do you -" Yasmine rolled her hand "- like like him?"

First, Ada's eyebrows went up and then she got that little line she sometimes got between her brows. "I didn't know this was elementary school. Regardless, no. We grew up together. We have the relationship I would imagine I would have with a sibling. To like like -" Ada put her fingers up in air quotes "- him would be incestuous."

"Whatever." Yasmine pushed off with her black hightop and went back to her desk. "But, you know -" she turned around but kept Ada's face visible in the corner of her eye "- you could totally lay him if you wanted."

The look on Ada's face was worth it.

December finals were hell. For everyone except Ada. She studied, but no more than usual. She walked around in with her head in its usual cloud, wearing an old varsity sweater and some saddle shoes she found at a thrift shop ("I feel collegiate this week," she shrugged when Yasmine asked), and she was completely unruffled.

Finally, Yasmine could leave. She missed her dads after all. She missed London. Mostly, she was looking forward to not having to endure Ada's strangeness for a whole month. Having signed up for the winter session, Ada would only be gone two weeks. Of course she would, the overachiever.

But, bloody hell, when Ada called her from their dorm room to ask her a question about something that came in the mail there, if Yasmine wasn't glad to see that beautiful, aloof face.

* * *

Sophomore

His name was Dylan. Of course it was. He wore his blond hair long and in a low ponytail. Of course he did. He had a thumb ring. Of course he did. He played the guitar, writing his own slow, mournful songs. Of course he did. He had dropped out of college to pursue his art and worked as a barista to make ends meet. Of course he did.

He was the fourth of four things that happened Ada's sophomore year at Harvard that would change her life, although she didn't realize it yet.

The first, the most surprising, actually happened the spring before. Yasmine suggested they live together another year, and Ada, having somehow become rather fond of her, agreed. As sophomores, they even won their bid for a larger room with its own en suite. Ada knew that beneath that tough talking, promiscuous, always wearing solid black exterior, Yasmine was sharp as a tack. She knew that her natural voice was beautiful, with one of those accents that comes from more than one place, and she hoped Yasmine would realize that herself someday, and stop pretending to be the most British person on Earth. Most of all, Yasmine was always there when you needed her. Not that she would have ever admitted it.

The second was she decided to pick up a third major. Even if it meant it would take her a full four years to graduate because of various Harvard stipulations. Mathematics and Japanese were useful and sanctioned by her parents, but Fine Arts with a two-dimensional concentration was for her. They didn't necessarily approve, especially Dad, but they relented with only mild grumbling because they understood she wanted to be challenged and because she easily maintained a 4.0 her freshman year.

The third was she openly defied her parents for the first time ever. She got a job at Starbucks. They argued she should be devoting her time to her studies. They disagreed about how much allowance she needed to buy clothes. They blamed her newly found love of addictive stimulants on Yasmine. Well, that part was true. They never gave their blessing to this new enterprise. But Ada liked the monotony, the relative mindless activity she could do while allowing herself to think about her studies or a geometric idea she felt percolating in the back of her brain or working out the kinks in the next chapter of her fanfiction comic book before she posted it.

And there, behind the counter with her, was Dylan. It was his reserve that attracted Ada. She got along with her coworkers, but she did not like the idle gossip and petty grievances of the workplace. She got enough of that with Yasmine, and at least Yasmine was funny. She allowed them to think she was shy or a snob just because she didn't join in. But Dylan didn't, either, she noticed. He was also a couple of inches taller than her, and she appreciated his height. And, so, slowly, they became friends. He mentioned he was going to play in the basement of some bar one Friday night. "You should come," he shrugged.

"I can't," she said, looking away. "I'm only seventeen." She had not expected the way that statement felt like a confession, as though her youth were a crime. She had not expected her heart to sink at the idea that whatever it was she now realized was blossoming between them would die because she was underage.

"Seventeen?" Dylan asked, his eyebrows raised. "And a sophomore? What are you, a genius or something?"

"Yes. Exactly."

He didn't look surprised or say any of the things Ada was always hearing about her intelligence, and somehow that pleased Ada even more. "It doesn't matter, I'll tell them you're with me. Just don't order any beer. I'm only twenty myself, and they let me in to play."

She shouldn't have told Yasmine, who acted as though this was the most important thing in her life, never mind the perfect SAT score and the three majors, and insisted on coming along. Yasmine who peppered him with questions as they drank coffee after his hushed, forlorn set. Yasmine who didn't spare a second before she gave Ada her full, unfiltered opinion on him. Not that Ada expected any less.

"He's so boring. It was like talking to someone in a bloody coma," Yasmine protested as they walked back to the dorm in the dark autumn night, leaves crunching under their feet.

"He's calm," Ada said. "Not everyone can be as animated as you."

"That barmy music! You would think that someone died every single day in his life to make him that sad. It was like audible narcolepsy."

"He feels things deeply. He knows how to express himself eloquently. Without a curse word in every sentence." Ada sped up, so Yasmine would have to scramble to keep up with her long legs.

"He's too much like you. It will like snogging a mirror."

"We're nothing alike. He's a musician."

"Your parents will hate him," Yasmine called from behind her.

Ada stopped so suddenly Yasmine bumped into her back. "Bloody hell, Ada, it's dark."

"Do you really think so?" she whispered, not turning around.

"Definitely." Yasmine stepped around to look at her, rubbing her nose. "Which is the only good thing about this. Your first shag should always be against your parent's wishes."

"Is that all you think about?" Ada took off again.

It wasn't like kissing mirror. It was . . . nice, once Ada got up the nerve to initiate it. It definitely wasn't an English snog, which relieved Ada. She was too embarrassed to tell him she'd only ever been kissed once and that was an awful experience, but he was soft and gentle and unhurried in this, too. He liked to sit beside her while she silently read or drew and he wrote music, and he was even unruffled by Yasmine's obvious dislike of him. ("I've seen kindergarteners more fruity that you two," she mumbled on on the way out of their room.) He let her decide when and how much she wanted to be physical, and she never felt rushed or forced. He let her decide when and how much she wanted to see him in general. He was a gentleman, she defended him to Yasmine.

A believer in diving right in, Ada asked her parents to come to Thanksgiving in Boston instead of Texas, promising a trip to Plymouth Rock to make it more historically authentic. They were wild about corny things like that. Dylan agreed to come to Thanksgiving at a restaurant to meet them, and Ada's heart hammered the entire T ride there with him. Even her perfect dress, complete with its embroidered bodice that looked like stomacher (perfect for Thanksgiving in Massachusetts), didn't make her feel any better. She stopped in the vestibule at the restaurant, watching them in the waiting area through the glass, because they hadn't noticed her yet. They looked so old suddenly, she realized. Yes, her mother's braid had long since been gray, but for the first time she noticed a few silver hairs at her dad's temples. Once, she had thought she hated them, but now they made her sad somehow. She noticed they were holding hands, and her father seemed to be toying with her mother's wedding ring. He must be nervous to do that in public. They were just as frightened of the future as she was, and this realization coupled with their aging made them seem fragile and new to her. They had always been pillars of strength, they had been so confident in front of her before, and this stolen glimpse of their fears make her heart ache.

Ada had counted on them hating Dylan, just as Yasmine foretold. An artist, a college drop-out? But even Dad was strangely quiet. Mom must have preemptively admonished him into silence; she was the only one who had the power to do that. Mom was overly polite, asking Dylan too many questions, which was her way of dealing with any situation with Ada that made her uncomfortable. Usually Mom was blunt and sarcastic, which is how Ada preferred her, but Ada knew this act well. She wanted to be perfect to Ada's first boyfriend because she wanted Ada's first boyfriend to be perfect for Ada. She wanted everything to be perfect for Ada. So, in the end, it wasn't the disaster Ada had dreaded - no, planned on. It was awkward and strained but polite. They both genuinely wanted her to be happy, Ada realized, and it felt like a punch to the stomach.

That night, with nothing holding her back now, she opened her bottom dresser drawer and took out the small box. She opened and looked down at the pristine rows of pills. They always made her feel guilty, because she knew what they caused. It was the worst fight of her parent's marriage. Not that they told her that, of course, but it was the only time Dad had ever slept on the sofa. And for two nights in a row, even though he tried and failed to hide it. They had fought so loudly, she heard Mom yell even though the closed bedroom door, "No one else in this family is getting pregnant in collage!" To which Dad yelled back, even louder, "Your fears are unfounded because no daughter of mine is having coitus in college!"

But Mom didn't back down, and she took Ada to the gynecologist anyway. And, somehow, Dad found the peace to . . . to pretend it never happened. This summer, Mom took Ada back for a refill and it was never mentioned at home. Now, on Thanksgiving evening, Ada murmured something like a little prayer for her mother and a whisper of forgiveness from her father and swallowed the first pill.

Not that see needed it, because Dylan never once asked or implied that he was expecting sex from her. Even when Ada would not have minded him taking the lead, perhaps allowing himself to brush her bosom, he never attempted. Surely her parents would approve of that, if they knew?

Autumn gave way to winter, and it was at Yasmine's instance that she agreed to go to her first college house party. "But I'm only seventeen!" she protested.

"You'll be eighteen next week. And going to an underage party is the whole point!" Yasmine said.

As usual, once Yasmine got an idea in her head it would not leave until Ada complied. "Okay, fine, but I'll only try one beer."

The only thing left to do was decide what to wear. Digging through her closet, Ada reached in for her old prom dress. Yasmine just looked at her and shrugged. "It's not that kind of party, you know."

"Maybe I'm being ironic," Ada said.

"Oh, is that what you call it? Come on, Junior."

It was far too loud and noisy and stuffed with people. Everyone turned to stare at her when they went in, which Ada normally did not mind, but she suddenly understood how out of place she was here, especially in her dress. She retreated further and further back into the house, away from the stereo, away from keg and coolers of beer cans, away from Yasmine. The only relative peace was on an old sofa on some sort of enclosed but drafty back porch. Ada gathered her arms around her to keep from shivering. She was thirsty, but the kitchen was terrifyingly filthy. She was still clutching the beer can someone had handed her, and, shaking her head slightly, she opened and took a drink.

Her nose wrinkled and she swallowed it down as quickly as she could. Yuck, it tasted like dishwater! Seeing no way out other than through it, though, Ada took another drink. To the pounding of the music, she took another.

The can was almost gone when she heard it. "Ada Cooper?"

Ada turned toward the voice and grinned. "Jacob! What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing," he said, his dark eyebrows bushed. He walked toward her, reached out and snatched the almost empty can of beer from her. "You're only seventeen!"

"Hey, that's mine! And I'll be eighteen next week." Ada sat up a little straighter, to make herself even taller. Which wasn't hard with Jacob. "And you're only nineteen."

"Twenty next month. And I can hold my liquor," he said, sitting down on the sofa next to her, sending a puff of dust up into the air.

"Who says I can't? Why are you always asking like my older brother?" She would not admit it, but her vision was a little swimmy on the edges.

"Don't you mean acting, not asking? Because it's clear someone needs to. Does Yasmine know you're here?"

"She's not my mother, either! Don't think I don't know that Yasmine reports to Faisal who reports to Mom! Besides, she brought me."

Jacob growled. "Are you drunk? Because there was no logic to that statement, only paranoia. Come on, Ada, I'll take you home," Jacob said, putting his hand on her shoulder.

"No! I'm a college student, I should be at a college party!" Ada shook her head and then immediately regretted it as the room started to spin.

"Ada Fowler Cooper, you're acting like a baby," Jacob said, his face getting closer to hers.

"I'm not a baby. You're always calling me that!" Ada protested, leaning in herself to make her point. "My IQ is higher than yours!"

"And you're always rubbing that in my face!" Jacob said, his voice getting loud now. "Do you have any idea what a snot-nosed brat you sound like sometimes?"

"Then why do you keep finding a way to - to meet me?" Ada asked. She reached out to steady herself and only managed to grab the edge of his shirt.

At first, all she tasted was beer. And then something sweeter, like sunshine and flowers and honey. Oh, God!, her eyes closed and she squeezed him tighter, letting his tongue run over her own, her teeth, meeting it with the same ardor as one arm came around her back. Something gentle brushed and then rested against the bosom of her old prom dress and she moaned in delight. She leaned down into him, pressing, and Jacob turned his head to accommodate her passion and both sets of glasses. Never, ever, had she felt such a sensation, radiately down from her lips, up from her genitals, oh! how soft and warm and yielding and hungry his mouth was. She drank from him deeply, her breath coming in hot rushes through her nose, another moan escaping, her hand finding its way under his shirt, burying her nails into the thick patch of chest hair she found there, fireworks exploding behind her eyes when Jacob pressed harder, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Ada!"

Pushing him away, Ada sat back with a gasp, opening her eyes to finally stare at him, his lips red and moist, his brown eyes wide behind his glasses. What had she just done?

She turned, the room spinning around her. "Yasmine . . ."

"Blimey, you do snog, after all -"

"Shut up!" Ada yelled, her hand reaching for her head. "I'm going to be sick," she moaned and struggled to get up. She only allowed Yasmine to help her up so that she could run away faster. The last thing she heard before she ran from the room was Yasmine saying to Jacob, "She has a boyfriend, you know. Just because it's obvious you're in lo -"

Ada ran through the house, through the front door, and vomited all over the front porch.

Yasmine, smelling like that spicy perfume she always wore was there, holding her hair back, covering her with her coat, shouting at everyone to get away, taking her home. Yasmine, who Ada was certain never once reported back to Faisal about their escapades, removed the vomit stained prom dress as Ada sobbed on the bathroom floor and helped her into the hot bathtub.

"I love you, Yasmine," Ada said as she grabbed her hand over the edge.

"Bullocks. How much did you drink?" But -" Yasmine reached for the shampoo, a smile playing on her lips "- that was quite an exit, Junior. I couldn't have done better myself."

The next day, Ada remained curled up in her bed, awash with shame. She had let down her parents. And Dylan. She was a horrible person. What was she going to do? There was a knock on the door, and when Yasmine opened it, Ada groaned and turned her face toward the wall. Jacob. "Tell him to go away," she yelled.

Ada heard a few murmured words and then the door shut again. She glanced over and saw Yasmine was gone now, too. Well, good, she was sick of her telling her to get up and to stop acting maudlin and saying "it was just a kiss." But it was a kiss with the wrong man!

Then Yasmine came back in and stood next to her bed. "Okay, Junior, I'm going to give you a speech. Think of it as a practical for my future career as the best damn barrister in all of Britain. If you insist that you love that stick in the mud, Dylan, fine, whatever it's your life. If you refuse to see what's right in of you, whatever, I am not your seeing eye dog. If you want to flog yourself forty times because you think you committed the worst possible sin on Earth, that's your decision. But I will not stand by and watch you throw away the longest friendship of your life. That boy -" Yasmine pointed to the door and Ada groaned again, knowing that meant Jacob was still on other side of it "- hauls his ass over from MIT to see you. Have you ever once gone over to see him? He's worried about you. So, yeah, you make out with him for a couple of minutes under the influence of some alcohol. Don't you think it was embarrassing for him, too? Or maybe even that you hurt him? He knows you have a boyfriend. He's come to ask your forgiveness, Ada."

Yasmine didn't even wait for reply, she just turned and Ada heard her combat boots pounding as she left the door open behind her. Jacob came in and stood by Ada's bed. "She's going to be an amazing lawyer. I'm terrified and she was my counsel."

Ada couldn't help it, she smiled. Then she sat up in bed. "I'm sorry, Jacob. I don't know what I was thinking, I drank that beer -"

"No, it was my fault, too. More my fault, really. You know, as your older, wiser, big brother." Jacob was looking down at his feet, shuffling them, fidgeting with his fingers like he often did. On reflex, Ada reached a finger out to push against his hand in the way she had learned years ago would make him stop. It did, and he looked up at her. "Will you forgive me?"

"If you'll forgive me," Ada said.

"I already have." He stopped and reached for her iKindle, sitting on the edge of her nightstand. "What are you reading?"

"_Radiance._ It's considered the first entry in decopunk, before it was popular. I was thinking it might be good fodder for a new fanfiction. Have you read it?" She folded her legs up under her.

Jacob flopped down on the bed next to her and shook his head. "No. But you know I love your fanfictions. I just started the Dresden File books. Dad likes them. Have you read those?"

The party wasn't mentioned again between them. But Ada knew what she still needed to do. She dressed carefully and was just fastening the pearls when Yasmine came in several days later.

"Crikey. What are you dressed as, a nun?"

"It's just a black dress and Grandmother's pearls," Ada said, wrapping her hair into a low bun.

"Who calls their granny Grandmother, anyway?"

"I'm going to tell Dylan," Ada said.

"You're breaking up with him?" Yasmine asked, and Ada winced at the slight squeal in her voice.

"_No._ I'm confessing to him what happened the party. And I hope he'll still have me," Ada said, sticking pins in her hair.

"Oh. I thought he wasn't having you at all," Yasmin said, turning away.

"Just because I choose not to share every detail of my love live with the whole dorm at ear-splitting volume, doesn't mean -" Ada took a deep breath. "Fine, if you must know, I've also decided that if he agrees to stay with me, then I would like to have intercourse with him."

"Hallufreakingljah!" Yasmine turned back around excitedly. "Wait, in that outfit? Not in that outfit! Or are you waiting for a sexy birthday night? Do you have protection? Do you have any questions? Do you -"

"Yasmine." Ada put a hand on her shoulder. "I am fully prepared for this. I have been taking birth control since November. My mother is a biologist and she never met a topic or event that she couldn't turn into a lecture."

"Oh my God!" Yasmine surprised her by reaching out to pull her into a hug. "My little girl is growing up."

However, Dylan was not alarmed by Ada's confession. "It was just a kiss?" was all he asked.

"Yes," Ada said, and there was a faint tick of dishonestly buried deep in her brain that she shoved away.

"Okay," Dylan said, looking down to strum another chord on his guitar.

"Dylan?" Ada asked, her mouth dry.

"Yeah?"

"I'd like us to make love."

He looked up and then shrugged. "Sure. If you want."

To be continued . . .

* * *

**_Part one?! Two things conspired this week to cause this unusual turn of events: 1) this chapter turned out far longer than I anticipated, and 2) I was having difficulties with this website which affected my uploading/editing capabilities. However, I won't make you wait a whole week to find out what happens. I plan on posting Part Two on Sunday, if the website is willing._**

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	48. Personalities - Part Two

**Personalities - Part Two (**_**takes place significantly after**_** Five Quarters of the Orange)**

* * *

_"Opposites attract," Sheldon said. Amy nodded. "I'm so glad we're not opposites. I liked you from the beginning because we were so much alike. Everyone should find someone they are so much like."_

_Amy smiled. "I don't think that works for everyone."_

* * *

Junior

Maybe she'd been too harsh on him last year. Maybe Dylan was just shy or something. After all, Ada said he'd hardly cared about her snog with Jacob at the party. And, even though she'd lied and told Ada it was just a kiss, Yasmine had seen more than enough to know it was far more than that.

But Ada seemed content. She and Dylan were still together. They even had some sort of sex life, although getting details out of Ada was like pulling teeth. They never, ever did it in the dorm room, Yasmine was certain of that. Even this year, when she and Ada agreed to stay on campus because the walks were shorter but moved up to an apartment style dorm with separate bedrooms and a kitchenette.

Yasmine decided to make an effort, even if she found Dylan as dull as watching paint dry. After all, if Jacob could agree to go hang out with Ada and Dylan, surely she could, too. This was the year of trying new things, she decided. She wouldn't change her accent anymore. She would clean up her language. She might, if she met the right person, give that monogamy thing a try. She even went shopping with Ada and bought both a blue shirt and a red one because she missed color. She would try to be as comfortable in her own skin as Ada clearly was in her's.

Wearing the new red shirt, she sat at their usual table at their favorite little restaurant and looked around at their foursome.

Ada, tall and beautiful and dressed like a . . . Yasmine wan't really sure. Somehow, she still managed to pull it off. Deep in the midst of some story, Ada was sitting so still, her posture absolutely perfect, her dusty timbred voice even and in control. You had to give credit were it was due; Ada may not talk a lot, but when she did, you listened. Ada could hold the masses in thrall. That girl could tell a story.

Sometimes, Yasmine had to correct people when they said Ada was shy. She was not shy; she just didn't see the need for chit-chat with strangers. She honed her Instabook followers list down to those she only really liked and you had to prove your worth to be accepted virtually by her ("I don't understand the point of collecting followers you either don't want to or never have a conversation with in real life."). But if she needed to be the center of attention for some reason, she stood tall and straight, accepting the spotlight with poise and ease. Some people said she was stuck up, and, although Yasmine could understand where that impression came from, Ada's disinterest was not malicious. Yes, her brutal honestly could seem cruel at times. She had this innate sense of her place in the universe, and she wore her assignment seriously if lightly. You think you can imagine what it's like until you meet one, or live with one, but a genius' mind really is on a completely separate plane. Ada was never purposely rude; in fact, thanks to her Grandmother Fowler whom she mentioned in revered tones, she was polite in a quaint, old-fashioned sense: hot beverages and thank-you cards on monogramed stationary. Ada remained the most self-possessed person Yasmine had ever met.

Jacob. Now, he was shy, although, the more Yasmine got to know him, the more she liked him. He was physically awkward, with his bouncing and his fidgeting, but his recent short haircut and new contact lenses had improved his looks enormously. He actively shrank from any spotlight, and it was only in Ada's presence that he seemed lighter. Although she didn't know or understand the whole story, Ada had explained his parents' divorce had somehow contributed to his nervous manner. But he was kind and he was very intelligent in his own right, and sometimes Yasmine got lost listening to him and Ada have a conversation. Ada may have been an idiosyncratic geek, but Jacob was a full stop nerd. You had to be a nerd to be president of the MIT chess club and start an MIT horticulture club.

"Why do I imagine him having one those giant people-eating plants like in _Little Shop of Horrors_?" Yasmine asked the evening Jacob posted the announcement on Instabook. She and Ada were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, half-watching _Jeopardy!,_ battling to shout out answers first. Ada, as usual, was in the lead, although Potent Potables and Popular Music were both categories so Yasmine had hopes for a tie.

"What's_ Little Shop of Horrors_?" Ada asked.

Yasmine rolled her eyes. "Sometimes your pop culture knowledge is profoundly anemic. You should brush up, for _Jeopardy! _if nothing else." She paused. "Has Jacob ever had a girlfriend?"

"Not that I know of. He's dated a few times. And he had an almost-girlfriend our senior year of high school," Ada explained.

"An almost-girlfriend?"

"It was actually Sophie. You met her, right, our freshman year?" Yasmine nodded, remembering Ada's high school friend that it seemed like she'd lost touch with. She briefly wondered if she'd been struck from the Instabook list. "He had a huge crush on her, and she agreed to go to prom with him."

"And?" Yasmine prompted, turning on her end of the sofa.

Ada shrugged. "It didn't go well. Sophie accused Jacob of ruining her prom."

"Did he? What happened?" Yasmine leaned forward.

"It's not my story to tell." Then Ada's eyebrows went up. "Unless someone official asks. Then it's only my story to tell. Jacob had nothing to do with it."

"What? Come on, Ada! You can't just dangle that in front of me and not tell me the whole story!"

"No. It's not my story to tell." She reached over to open her iKindle and stopping yelling _Jeopardy!_ answers, which Yasmine knew was the signal that the topic was closed.

Now Yasmine watched Jacob responding to Ada's story, telling his own little anecdote, his hands practically wringing in front of him, as he didn't like to be the center of attention. She saw Ada's hand reach over to gently lay a single fingertip on the back of one of Jacob's hands and they instantly stilled. Yasmine raised her eyebrows. It occurred to her that this was a long practiced habit between them, and neither one of them realized it was occurring, as there was not a single break in Jacob's story or Ada's attentiveness.

She glanced over at Dylan, to see if he noticed, but he sitting there mute, as usual, although he was gazing at Ada with a soft face. Yes, maybe she had been too harsh on him. Maybe it wasn't that he was just all inertia, without any sense of his own animation. Maybe he hadn't just stumbled across a beautiful girl who somehow agreed to be his girlfriend. Yasmine had no idea what went on behind his closed door, maybe he really was an active participant in their relationship. Yes, his gaze looked more like zoned-out daydreaming, but maybe it really was admiration and love - No, Yasmine shook her head, she was turning over a new leaf and would only think kind things about him because he was important to Ada.

That spring, Ada went to Japan to study abroad. Yasmine missed her presence in their little pseudo-apartment, oddities and all. Even though Ada was a generally quiet person, Yasmine missed the flashes of color as she walked by, the constant guessing of what her costume du jour was, the sound of her stylus on her tablet as she was drawing, the way she held the marker in front of her chin while standing at the her white board and pursed her lips above it when she was thinking, the way she always knew when Yasmine was frustrated by something and needed a hot beverage or the most amazing, gooiest grilled cheese sandwich Yasmine had ever had ("Grandmother taught me how to make it"). Without Ada, their little foursome never gathered. Although Yasmine didn't really miss seeing Dylan around, she missed Jacob's nervous little conversations. Jacob. What was he up to without Ada? All chess club and growing plants named Audrey? Probably. Yasmine smiled. Poor backwards Jacob. She wondered if he was a virgin. Probably. He was a nice guy. Smart. For just a second, a thought lingered in Yasmine's imagination, and then she pushed it away. No, she told herself, ashamed for even having thought it. Even though she could probably make it happen, it wouldn't be right. She could not and would not ruin the possibility of a someday for her best friend.

Instead, when Yasmine called him up, she only asked him if he'd like to go out for coffee.

"Sure," Jacob said. "Actually, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

"To meet?"

"I've been seeing this girl, and Ada's not around to give her opinion, you know." Yasmine saw him shrug on his end of the screen. "Her name is Bertha."

"That's unfortunate," Yasmine said. "Oh, sorry."

Jacob smiled. "No, you're right. Gosh, you almost sounded like Ada there for a second."

That's when Yasmine realized it was even worse than she thought. So she met Jacob and Bertha for coffee. Bertha was loud and talkative and fluttering; Yasmine didn't know if these obvious differences relieved her or troubled her. Bertha was in the middle of yet another story, when she said something about a prom.

"Prom?" Yasmine asked. She turned slightly at the table. "Jacob, what happened at your prom?"

"Nothing." But the fidgeting had started.

"That's not true. Ada said there's a story, but she refused to tell me."

"It's her decision. It's her story to tell, not mine." Full hand wringing now. Yasmine put a finger out to touch his hand, like Ada did, but it didn't work. He pulled his hands away but kept on twisting them.

"Funny, that's the exact same thing she told me."

"Who's Ada?" Bertha asked.

Yasmine turned to her with eyebrows high. She knew Jacob and Ada were in communication, their names had passed each other's lips when Yasmine had talked to each of them. She knew they had a long habit of playing virtual chess and talking throughout it. "Jacob hasn't mentioned his best childhood friend of all time?" Bertha shook her head, and that's when Yasmine realized it was far, far worse than she'd thought.

"Listen -" Jacob said suddenly, and, Yasmine thought, too conspicuously, " - prom was a long time ago. I did something for a friend, and a friend did something for me. Because that's what friends do, they do something noble and they don't expect anything in return. They defend and protect each other."

Biting off her questions, Yasmine didn't say anything about Ada the rest of the night, regretting she'd brought it up here, now. But it was apparently too late, anyway. It was the last she ever heard or saw of Bertha.

* * *

Senior

Love. Making love. Of course, both of these things were calmer and more sedate than her mother led her to believe. It was in Mom's nature, Ada knew, to over romanticize things. Not that she doubted her parents loved each other, embarrassingly so, but that silly dreamy look Mom got on her face whenever she talked about Dad . . . it was all a bit too much to be believed, wasn't it?

Ada had suffered that dreamy look too much when she was younger. An event, no matter how trivial, never happened growing up that Mom wouldn't make into a lecture or a teaching lesson. Feminism, female empowerment, respect your body, etc., etc., etc. Love and sex were discussed in the most holy and most cringeworthy tones ever. Ada, too, believed that knowledge was power, but did it ever occur to Mom that the last person Ada wanted giving her knowledge about sex as "a celebration of love and the pleasure of the one's body" was her mother? Who was doing her celebrating with her father? Ugh. There were dozens of times, suffering through her mother's lectures, Ada had just wanted her mattress to open up and swallow her. Honestly, why couldn't Mom just have handed her a book about it all, a biological textbook, and left it at that? Or stuck to just the facts, not rhapsodizing about it. Why?

Because Mom believed she had the power to make Ada's life perfect. Mom devoted her life to this task. There had been times Ada felt like she was suffocating under all the wishful thinking of her mother. Even now, at age nineteen, having made peace with it, now seeing that it was well meant, and sometimes even missing her mother so much it hurt, Ada would feel her back bristle at a stray comment here or there. It was partly, she knew, a difference of opinion. Mom had shared with Ada that her childhood was not as idyllic as she thought it should be, that secrets had been kept. But Ada just couldn't see it; she had loved and adored Grandmother Fowler. She could talk to her about anything without getting overwrought about it. They had both understood this on some basic level. "No need to make a fuss, dear." Wouldn't the world be more harmonious if everyone understood that?

So, tangents aside, of course having sex with Dylan didn't cause angels to sing or rainbows to shoot through her body or teddy bears to cry or whatever it was Mom claimed. Real sex was like this: nothing fancy, really only two positions, certainly no loud or lewd noises. Many real woman didn't have orgasms from sexual intercourse. Studies supported this. Real men, the gentlemen, weren't constantly horny and always trying to initiate. No one actually stumbled through their house tearing their clothes off or played strip games or wore costumes. Seduction was for romance novels. Instead, Ada and Dylan had a simple system. Ada would ask, "Would you like to make love?" And Dylan would reply either "Sure" or "Not tonight." No need to make a fuss.

Oh, there had been a time or two Ada had asked Dylan to try something new, and Dylan had brushed the suggestion away with a brief and final "I like it simple" or "I don't like oral." There, see: honest, calm, adult conversations. No need to make a fuss. And, yes, there had been some annoyance that Dylan wouldn't stay awake to at least listen to her enjoy herself afterwards, but she may have been too embarrassed anyway. There, see: he was respectful of her privacy. Maybe she wouldn't have minded deep conversations afterwards instead of a peck on the cheek and a "That was nice. Goodnight," but did she honestly believe her parents discussed the meaning of the universe or the last digit of pi or the innermost secrets of their souls during or after sex? No, of course not. No need to make a fuss. If the very thought hadn't make her shiver in disgust, the idea of her father saying something romantic or, heaven forbid, sexy in bed would have made Ada laugh.

No, her mother had dreamed it all up, in her overly romantic imagination. Although Ada really tried not to think about her parents in the bedroom, she suspected it was very much like being in Dylan's bedroom when she spent the night. Calm, adult sex. Just like their love: calm, adult. Too high of a high meant too low of a low and they both knew it without discussing it. No need to make a fuss.

"Obviously we're in love. We've been together two years," Ada huffed in the middle of one her almost-tiffs with Yasmine about him. Why shouldn't Dylan play a gig for singles on Valentine's Day? Stupid Hallmark holiday, anyway. Never mind that her carefully selected Valentines, the product of an hour spent on the virtual Hallmark store, were already addressed in red calligraphy and stamped in custom stamps and ready to send in the old fashioned mail to everyone she cared about.

"Being together and being in love are not the same thing," Yasmine pointed out.

"Well, it feels like forever, and that's a good thing to me," Ada said.

"I'm not sure that's a ringing endorsement either, Junior." Yasmine shook her head and turned away, letting the topic drop.

Ada looked over at her. Yasmine was her best friend, her roommate for almost four years now, long after the majority of freshman roommates were looked back on as unfortunate pairings. The past two years, without discussion, they'd submitted the same form to their house, saying they wanted to stay together. On the whole, she'd improved with time. Yasmine had softened and matured and given up her ridiculous fake accents and black wardrobe and grown into herself. At first, in the tiny freshman dorm room, Ada had disliked her immensely, and she was angry at her parents for forcing this roommate agreement upon her. Dad had gone to college at age eleven, why couldn't he trust her to do the same at five years older? She'd immediately sensed that many of Yasmine's traits were overcompensation, that she was so desperate to fit in, to not be a minority or the refugee she still thought she was. This had baffled Ada; why would anyone want to be something or someone they weren't? But, gradually, Yasmine had shed her fake punk-rocker skin without losing any of her attitude and sass, and Ada was, quite simply, crazy about her.

But Yasmine never really liked Dylan, just tolerated him for Ada's sake. Even though her comments had become softer and much less frequent in the past year or so, it still hurt Ada that her best friend didn't believe in this relationship like she did. Part of the problem was that Ada always the feeling that Yasmine knew something, or at least believed she knew something, that Ada did not and that she was forcibly holding herself back from saying it. It was the only true source of contention left between them.

Sighing and looking back at her tablet, Ada shook her head. She didn't have time for this. Here it was, late January, and she'd yet to pick her graduate course. Several schools had accepted her conditionally for mathematics, but she wasn't sure that was exactly what she wanted to do. And then there was Dylan. Harvard had accepted her, maybe she should just stay here.

"Oh," Yasmine said suddenly.

Ada looked up. "What?"

"Will Shortz died. You know, the former editor of _The New York Times _crosswords puzzles?"

"That's unfortunate," Ada said. "Mom will be sad. She's quite the crossword puzzle fan."

"Hey, did you know this?" Yasmine asked, still reading her own screen, "'He is the only person known to hold a college degree in enigmatology, the study of puzzles. Shortz achieved this feat by designing his own curriculum through Indiana University's Individualized Major Program.'" She looked up. "Can you imagine a degree in puzzles? Will they really let you get a degree in anything?"

"No, you can't get your degree in sex, drugs, and rock n' roll," Ada said.

"Aww, too late." Yasmine smiled. "I'm too old for that now. Besides, I'll never catch the next George Clooney if I don't become Britain's next top civil rights barrister."

Smiling back, Ada felt a tug in her chest. Only three more months, and their lives would change all over again. Yasmine would be off to Cambridge, Jacob was returning to Los Angeles to work, and she was getting her PhD . . . somewhere. In something broader than she wanted. Why couldn't she get it just in geometry? Or even geometry combined with topology? Was there really so little left to know about geometry that no school could imagine spending years studying it and -

"Wait a minute. Individualized Major Program?" Ada asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yes." Yasmine touched her screen. "At Indiana University. Isn't that somewhere one flies over?"

"Maybe," Ada murmured, already redirecting her browser.

"Oh, Ada has an inkling! Here comes the ruminating!" Yasmine sang. That had been around for four years, too, and, in that time, Ada had gone from hating it to loving it. "Listen, before you fall deep in your stupor, what are you going to do about Dylan?"

Ada looked up sharply. "I haven't decided," she confessed. She wanted Yasmine to say something negative about him, but she just nodded softly.

"Well, whatever you decide, I've got your back, Junior. I just want you to be happy, even if it is with Dylan." It was the sincerity that hurt the most.

But Ada nodded it away and looked back at her tablet, letting the fog of an idea, of making new plans enshroud her. Tentative inquiring emails were sent, polite responses were received, an application was accepted, and phone calls were had that were positive and optimistic. A decision was made. But only one of two that needed to be determined.

"Dylan?"

"Yes?" He didn't look up from the magazine he was reading, sitting in his favorite old beat up chair, his long legs stretched in front of him.

"Can you look at me? I have something important to say." He complied. "I've made a decision. I'm going to get my PhD at Indiana University. They have an Individualized Major Program and, while no one has used it for a PhD yet, everyone I've spoken to there says they would be open to considering it. And, even if they don't approve it, I'll just get my PhD in mathematics. It's the only option I have anywhere else, anyway."

"Okay. Cool," he smiled.

Ada took a deep breath. "We need to decide what to do about us."

The smile fell. "You know I don't like angst and confrontation. Let's just make a decision."

No need to make a fuss. They would decide something like adults and see it through. "Good. How about . . ." She swallowed. "How about you move to Indiana with me? We could live together." A pause. "You don't have to decide right now. I'm just asking you to consider it. I understand it's a big step, because your friends are here and your music gigs and everything. I am also aware it's a big step for us."

Dylan didn't reply right away, which didn't concern Ada. He was thinking. That was why they were so well suited: he was being thoughtful and calm. No ripples in their relationship. "Okay, sure."

"Really? Just like that?" Ada asked, incredulous at the ease with which this had been determined, after weeks of her inner turmoil.

"Sure. Why not?"

"Dylan, you're the best!" Without thinking, she threw herself at him, landing on his lap, wrapping her arms about him that that old chair, even though demonstrative wasn't really their thing.

"Uh, Ada? What's wrong with you?" he asked, pushing her away slightly.

She was so pleased she wouldn't have to start over alone in Indiana that she didn't answer.

Near the end, time sped up. Plans were finalized, exams were taken, long good-byes were begun. Suddenly, it seemed it was a Thursday morning at the end of May, and Ada stood next to Yasmine in their matching black gowns.

"Are you nervous about your oration?" Ada asked.

"Terrified. But," Yasmine took a deep breath, "it's good practice for the Supreme Court." Ada smiled. "I'm still surprised to you didn't try for the oration competition."

Shaking her had, Ada looked down to pick a piece of lint of her graduation gown. "No, you know I don't seek the spotlight."

"But you're so good when you're in it," Yasmine said. "Although maybe the Sophia Freund prize _and_ the oration prize would have been a bit flashy, even for you."

Before she could reply, there was knock at the door, and the private moment was lost as all their parents arrived together, flooding around the moving boxes to give hugs. It was over in a flash, it seemed, even Yasmine's beautiful speech. Suddenly, her tassel was on the other side of her mortarboard, and Ada was a Harvard graduate. There were so many pictures to take: with her beaming parents, hugging her dearest friend and roommate, and some with Dylan's arm loosely holding her around the waist. Her only wish was that Jacob could have been there, but his own commencement was tomorrow and his parents and Lucy would be arriving today. Not that Ada would have had enough tickets for him, anyway.

They all went out to eat together, everyone laughing and in good spirits, buoyed by the joy of a milestone achieved. Of course, it was still stilted between Ada parents and Dylan, but she squared her shoulders and determined not to let it get to her. They were just unhappy about the move, she reasoned; Dad was so old-fashioned he'd actually used the term "living in sin." That didn't bother her, actually. For two and half years she had just wanted her father to be himself, to express him opinions forcefully, even hysterically, like he would about anything else. But he was always so reticent on the topic of Dylan. After first, Ada had assumed this was Mom's doing. But then, and there were not words express how much this hurt her, she came to think perhaps her father truly just didn't care about Dylan. So she'd almost wept in relief with Dad become hysterical when she told them at Spring Break, raving about wasting her life and making mistakes and living in sin, and she'd thrown her arms around him and squeezed him time.

"Oh, Dad, you do care," she'd sobbed.

"Hey, kid," he'd squeezed back, his voice becoming soft and heavy, "I care about you and your happiness more than you'll ever know. Is this really what you want? A bohemian existence in the Midwest?"

"Yes," she'd whispered. "Captain Janeway lived there."

"Okay." A soft sigh. "Just please don't turn into a hippy and stop wearing deodorant."

Now, at her graduation dinner, Ada reached her hand across the table and squeezed her father's aging one, and he looked up, surprised. Ada used her free hand to blow him a kiss, and he reached up and grabbed the invisible token of love and pretended to slide it in his suit pocket. Too soon, the moment was lost in conversation and then, equally soon, the night was over as everyone went their separate ways.

The second knock at the door of the day surprised her. The little apartment was quiet again, still and hushed, as the campus buzzed around it. Ada was relishing the quiet after such a busy and momentous day. After three majors in four years, it felt good to sit down and read in silence.

But once she looked through the peephole, she smiled and happily opened the door. "Jacob! What are you doing here? You have your own commencement tomorrow."

"I had to go to the grocery store." He patted the bag in his hands.

"There at least a dozen grocery stores and markets between your apartment and Harvard," Ada said, raising an eyebrow.

Jacob sighed softly. "Okay, I couldn't leave without saying good-bye."

"It's not good-bye. We'll still see each other in California when I come home to visit."

He shrugged. "But it will be different. I've gotten used to your baby face around."

"Stop calling me that."

Smiling, he said, "Honestly, I can't stay long with my family in town and everything. Are your parents back at the hotel?" Ada nodded. "Where's Yasmine?"

"Some party. For old times sake, she said," Ada explained.

He laughed. "That sounds about right." A pause. "Well, I just wanted to wish you well. You're going out next week, right?"

"Yes. To look for a place to rent. Once I find one, Dylan's coming out." Then she added in a rush, "Not because he's leaving all the work to me, but because he wants me to find a place I like. That's quiet for my studies. He's being considerate."

Jacob wrinkled his brow. "Uh, sure. I didn't say he wasn't."

"Sorry." That was unfair. Jacob had never once said one negative thing about Dylan or her relationship with him. That was all Yasmine's doing. Ada sighed. "Yasmine disapproves. I'm used to having arguments at the ready. You know how she is."

"She's going to be an amazing lawyer. She terrifies me sometimes still."

Ada chuckled.

"Have your parents made peace with it? Living with a boy?" he asked.

"I suppose. More like they've resigned themselves to my legal independence." She bit her lip and sighed harder. Perhaps she had made some form of peace, but Mom just smiled broadly, all teeth, that fake smile Ada knew well. It was the force of her mother's positive thinking, of her need to put on a happy face to Ada when she didn't feel it, that weighed heavily.

Jacob shifted and rummaged in his bag. "Here," he said pulling a can out.

Ada took it, surprised that it was cold. "Mountain Dew? Uncle Stuart isn't here."

"Actually, it was your dad who taught me to drink the strong stuff when I had troubles," Jacob said, opening his own can.

"Really, Dad?" Ada shook her head, wondering why Jacob would come prepared with Mountain Dew. "It's not troubles. At least not for me. I'm happy. Dylan's happy. It's just my parents. There's all this strange tension still. I think that Mom - and maybe Dad, too, I don't know - thinks that Dylan can't be the one because it's too easy."

"Easy?" Jacob asked, taking a drink.

"Yeah. How we met, that we're so well suited, that we get along so well. Or maybe that I'm too young to find 'the one.'" She made air quotes around the words before she reached down to open her can of soda. "It's so hypocritical because she and Dad are so much alike. But it's like she believes the one is a lightening strike, something violent, not something sensible and comfortable. That you have to work hard to find the one, that you have to have all this pain and all these emotions for the one. Like it's a trial and you have to prove your love. She even quotes from _The Little Prince _\- you know, that children's book - about how working hard for your love is what makes it special. But why does it have to be such hard work? Why can't the one just be right in front of you all along?"

"Indeed," Jacob said softly.

"I'm sorry. I'm rambling. It's beneath me," Ada said, taking a drink.

"You weren't rambling," Jacob said. "You should feel strongly about Dylan, since he's the one."

"Exactly. I wish everyone else would understand that. It should be apparent as we're moving across the country together."

"Obviously."

"It's such a relief to talk to you, Jacob. You've always understood me." Ada smiled softly and took another drink.

"I try. You're a tough nut to crack, Ada Cooper." He took a deep breath. "Listen, sorry I upset you. I really did come to say congratulations and wish you well in graduate school."

"Thank you. Any leads on a job?"

Jacob shook his head. "Not really. It doesn't help that I'm not exactly sure what I want to do yet."

"I'm sure you'll find something. You're such a smart man," Ada said.

"Thanks." He smiled, and then he put his can out in front of him. "To the future."

Ada grinned and touched hers to it. "To the future."

After they each took their drink, Jacob sat down on her sofa, as though he'd never said he didn't have the time to stay, and said, "So, Jesus Christ, tell me how you're going to save the backwoods of Indiana."

"I really wish you wouldn't call me that, either," Ada said, but with a laugh, as she sat down next to him, tucking her legs under her and talking to him until well after midnight as though he didn't have to leave, as if those four crucial years weren't drawing to a close, as if their paths weren't dividing.

* * *

**_Thank you for sticking around for such a lengthy (and unconventional) After Dark! And, as always, thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	49. By the Numbers

**By the Numbers (**_**takes place sometime shortly after **_**The Guest Cat****)**

* * *

_Sheldon's hand stopped in surprise. "Few million dollars?" Then he resumed his ministrations, rubbing her calves now._

_"Yes, several million dollars. I told you I need either donations or a new grant for the next level of my study. To prove my initial findings."_

* * *

It took him far longer than it should have taken a man of his intelligence to figure it out. But then, he reasoned to reassure himself, there was less than the usual blood flow to his brain at the time.

Sheldon was not surprised by the position. This was, even if unsaid, Amy's night of celebratory sex as the funding for the second stage of her study had come through. Flushed with pride and accomplishment and determination and desire, it seemed only fitting she would want to direct the evening's activities. Not that he wouldn't have gladly pleasured her first, with relish; indeed, the sight of her helpless with physical joy brought about by his mere fingers was one his greatest sources of satisfaction. But he knew her well enough to know when she wanted to feel her own empowerment. So, when she settled over him, as he leaned back into the mountain of pillows she'd arranged, he assumed she was just settling, adjusting, finding her angle. The fits and starts didn't concern him in the least.

Perhaps, early on, it occurred to him that it was more erratic than normal, first clockwise and then switching to counterclockwise and then rapidly back again. But he was enjoying her slow groove, the feel of the soft undulation of her waist between his hands, the pressure of her palms on his chest, and, most of all, the way she closed her eyes and opened her pink lips as her own pleasure built.

But somewhere around the number nine, something tickled the edge his brain. He tried to ignore it - _oh, God, this feels so good! _\- but it tickled nonetheless. There it was: nine again. Then nine the other direction. And - _Lordy! this is amazing! _\- then ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise. Ten. Counterclockwise. Ten. Clockwise.

Eleven! Even in the midst of own building pressure, his eyebrows went up.

"Amy?" he managed.

Her eyebrows twitched and the line between her brows deepened before her eyes opened. "Yes?"

"I couldn't help but notice the sequence -"

"Shhhh." Her eyes shut again. "I'm concentrating," she whispered.

That sealed it. There was nothing desultory about this at all. There hadn't been from the start. He wouldn't thought it was possible, given how his right hand had traveled down her thigh and the slow grab had started there, but somehow the knowledge of what she was doing only heightened the sensations radiating from his core.

She was half-way through the thirteens now, and he desperately tried to hold out to complete the grouping. More importantly, he was trying to hold out for her. Surely she must be close, her breathing was so loud now, and her little peeps and squeaks of pleasure had started. Grinding his back teeth, his fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her leg. "Amy, Amy, Amy . . ." he whined through his clenched teeth. _Just one more, maybe if I count with her, oh, Amy, this is amazing! no, counting! do the math yourself! math during sex! oh, Amy! you brilliant, sexy woman, you! -_

"Noooooooo!" After only eight rotations, he brain shut off and his senses were only filled with her, the warmth of her body around him, the waves she sent up and out and from his center to fill him and surround him.

He came back, panting, to Amy's forehead resting against his. "I usually yell yes, but whatever works for you," she said softly.

"Amy, I -" he reached up for the sides of her face and backed it away so that he could see it better. She was smirking. "Oh, you're not upset."

"Not at all." She shook her head. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? I loved it!" He pulled her back for a kiss. "The Golomb sequence writ large by our genitals? You're brilliant!"

She threw her head back and laughed. "Well, that description certainly made it worth while!" She looked down at him. "I was hoping you'd recognize it."

"Please. I'm a champion at both Cheskers and polyominos! Solomon Golomb is one of my heros!" Amy chuckled again and shifted above him, sending a tiny zing through his body. What she starting again? He wasn't thirty-five anymore, but, maybe . . . "Oh, Amy," he said softly.

"What?" she asked, her hips stilled again.

"You didn't . . ." He swallowed.

She shrugged. "It's okay. I think I was concentrating on counting too much."

"No, it's not okay." He pulled himself all the way upright, wrapping his arms around her. "And this wasn't even regular sex, this was supposed to be your event sex."

"Event sex?" Amy raised her eyebrows.

"Yes. Celebratory sex. Because you received all the funding you need for your study." He brushed those bangs he hated out of her face. "I'm sorry, I should have insisted -"

"Sheldon." She put a hand on his chest. "I have no idea what this so-called event sex is. I was just trying to spice things up, that's all."

"Mission accomplished, little lady. But event sex is when something out of the ordinary happens and -"

"Shhhh." She leaned forward and kissed him softly. "There's nothing ordinary to me about making love to you."

"Well, when you put it that way . . . I agree whole heartedly," Sheldon whispered.

"You know what event I like to celebrate?" Amy whispered back.

"What?"

She leaned close to his ear so that he could feel the words, not just hear them. "You naked in my bed."

"Likewise," he hushed, lowering his face into her neck, kissing her there. "Hang on." Before she could reply, her gripped her firmly and rolled over with her, and her back landed on the mattress with an "Uuummmpph."

He easily slipped out of her and replaced his hips with his hand upon her inner thigh. "Now, Dr. Fowler, you know that we don't leave any events unfinished in this bed." She giggled and then moaned when he made contact. "I was thinking maybe the Juggler sequence. You know, because I'm so dexterous." She giggled again. "Shall I count?"

"Oh, Sheldon . . ." she moaned as his finger started to swirl.

"One." Clockwise. "One." Counterclockwise. "Five." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eleven." Clockwise. "Two." Counterclockwise. "Eighteen." Clockwise. "Two -"

"Oh, leave the integer out," she demanded.

He tilted his head. For her? Yes. "Very well. Twenty-seven." Counterclockwise. "Thirty-six." Clockwise. "Forty-six." Counterclockwise. "Fifty-eight." Clockwise.

Except he only made it to forty-two.

"Sheldon!" There it was, what he'd been longing to see: the flushed skin, the arch of her neck, the way her thighs squeezed him. He paused, just a beat, to let her catch her breath, before he resumed.

"Again?" Amy gasped out.

"I can't leave it unfinished!" Completion of fifty-eight. Clockwise. "Seventy." Counterclockwise. But he studied Amy, biting her lip, her back arching off the bed, her hands knotted around the sheet beneath her. "How about I just start at fifty-nine?"

Amy exhaled and relaxed slightly, but not all the way. Although even he knew the visible tension was of a different sort. And, because, they excelled here as they did with all things, their timing was impeccable.

"Seventy," he whispered, but no one heard it over Amy's beautiful cry of joy. He leaned down to kiss her forehead, to brush his lips along the planes of her face.

"Better?" he whispered.

"Oh, yeah."

Sheldon smiled and reached above her to rearrange the pillows, before he pulled the covers up and Amy snuggled up next to him, her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her hair. "I love you so much."

Amy smiled into his chest. "We should do math in bed more often."

"Agreed."

She chuckled again and shifted closer to him, and he involuntary twitched when her feet touched him. "How is it possible to engage in so much physical activity and yet your feet remain frigid!"

But he rubbed his own feet against hers, anyway, to warm them. Just another ordinary event.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	50. The Argument

**The Argument (_takes place during and after_ The Legend of Bagger Vance)**

* * *

_"Maybe, Ada, since Jacob and Lucy will be with us, your mother might like to spend some time with Aunt Bernadette. I'm sure they have things to talk about," Sheldon said._

_Her head snapped back toward Sheldon, his blue eyes almost blinding her with their intensity behind his glasses. Of course that was the solution. She'd known it all night and all morning, although she hadn't been ready to swallow her pride and admit it yet._

_"Yes," she nodded. "Bernadette and I have things to discuss."_

_"Just remember," Sheldon said softly, "don't apologize for being your authentic self."_

* * *

"Isn't Bernadette coming up?" Penny asked, shutting the door behind her.

"She said she would. But she had to do something first, something about Lucy, I didn't catch it all. She was mumbling." Amy shrugged and walked toward her kitchen, opening the pantry door and ducking in for a bottle of wine, just after she glanced over to spot Belle sunbathing in her Eames chair, an new alarmed look on her face at the arrival of humans.

"Red or white?" she called.

"Oh. Neither. I'll just have water. Too full from all that turkey," Penny's voice said.

Grabbing a bottle of red wine anyway, Amy came out and saw Penny across the room inspecting the whiteboards, where rows of words like pilgrim and Mayflower and cornucopia were written in cursive. "Is Sheldon working on his knees now?" she asked.

"No, that's Ada's. It's her spelling words this week. And she's learning cursive," Amy said, unscrewing the wine, then bending down to run her hand along Belle's back as the cat wove around her ankles. "No, it's not dinner time," she cooed.

"God, she's so smart," Penny said, coming back across the room. "Fenny just mastered writing his full name correctly."

Amy blushed with pride and nodded. These conversations always made her feel both a little awkward and very blessed. "I never thought I'd say this, but Mother has been a Godsend to us. That's her doing, working with Ada on spelling and handwriting and all sorts of things. Ada's right on schedule to start second grade next fall. Did I tell you that she was conditionally accepted to the Washington Elementary STEM GATE-program? They'll be some tests in the spring to confirm our registration, but -"

The door flow open, interrupting her and sending Belle scurrying away toward the bedrooms. "Okay, I'm here." Bernadette rushed in. "Jesus, you'd think Howard was dying from the way he acted when I told him the girls were coming up here. There are four grown men down there to watch the kids!" She glanced over at Penny. "Leonard didn't give you any grief, even about little Fox?"

Penny shook her head. "They talked about all going to the park to fly kites. He might bring him up here if they do."

"Aren't you worried?" Bernadette asked, sitting on a stool at the island next to Amy.

"Uh, no. Leonard can handle the kids," Penny shrugged from where she was standing, leaning against the sink, having filled her own glass of water.

"Oh, good! Wine! Fill me up!" Bernadette instructed and Amy complied.

"What should we toast to?" Amy asked.

"Oh, I have some good news!" Bernadette cheered. "Finally - after two years - we got word that Jacob was conditionally accepted to Washington STEM next year! Jesus, that place is like Fort Knox. It was harder to get in there then it is to win a MacArthur Genius Grant!"

Amy's eyes met Penny's as they both quickly took a drink from their respective glasses, neither of them speaking.

"Hey, what's going on?" Bernadette demanded.

"It's just - um - Ada is going to Washington STEM next year, too. I mean, most likely. It's not confirmed yet," Amy rushed, and then smiled toward Bernadette. "Ada will be so excited that Jacob will in the same school and the same grade! And how many kids are in the GATE program, will they even be in the same class?"

"Seriously?" Bernadette looked over her glass of wine.

Wrinkling her brow, Amy started, "Yes. I don't -"

"Amy's right, Bernie. This is a good thing. Jacob won't have to transfer to a new school without knowing anyone there," Penny interrupted.

Bernadette downed her glass of wine. "Sure."

There was a lull as Bernadette poured more wine, and Amy looked at Penny once more.

"So, Ames, how's the study going?" Penny asked.

"It's going quite well, thank you. I'm really excited, I definitely think I'm on to something new. It's been a little hectic, but I think we're getting our schedule under control," Amy said.

"Oh, like Sheldon going on a field trip?" Bernadette asked.

Amy swallowed hard and fought the creeping feeling in her stomach. "Well, yes, that was very helpful to me."

"Field trip?" Penny asked.

"Oh, didn't you hear?" Bernadette asked, turning toward her. "Sheldon chaperoned a field trip for the preschool and got kicked out."

"What?" Penny asked, her eyes getting big. "Leonard didn't say anything about it!"

"He may not know," Bernadette said. "Howie only heard when he picked up Lucy from daycare. Sheldon hasn't said boo to him."

"What happened, Ames?" Penny asked.

Looking down at her wine, swooshing it in her glass, Amy said, "Well, you know, he just got over whelmed, I think, and things got a little out of control. It's always harder watching someone else's children than your own."

"_A little_ out of control? I heard it was more than that!" Bernadette said.

Amy looked up and narrowed her eyes. She knew Sheldon's faults better than anyone else, but she certainly wasn't going let someone talk smack about her husband. "Listen, he got too competitive with four year olds, yes. But no one was injured or in danger and no crimes were committed. And he feels bad enough the way it is. Let's just drop it."

"Oh, I -" Bernadette said.

"Drop. It," Amy growled.

"Hey, you know what?" Penny cheered. "We should all go out for mani-pedi's. We haven't done that in months!"

"Yeah," Amy smiled at her, grateful she'd changed the subject, "we should."

"You'll probably have to go without me. I'm chained to the house," Bernadette whined.

"What does that mean?" Amy asked.

"It means that Howard Wolowitz would have to get off his ass and act like a man with the kids for once," she replied as she filled her glass again.

Amy winced at Bernadette's tone. How much had she had to drink? "Come on, Bernadette, Howard will always watch the kids, you know that."

"Yeah, watch them run wild and get into trouble and break all the rules. By the time I get home it's chaos: they're dirty and the house is a wreck and toys and games are everywhere and no one has cleaned up or made them follow the rules and I have to demand things get put away that should have been put away in the first place and then the kids cry and Howard says I'm being too hard on them, and, honestly, it's more hassle than it's worth," Bernadette said.

"Oh. I'm sure it's not like that," Amy said. "They're just children. They need to play. And Howard is great at playing with them -"

"You don't get to have an opinion about this because you only have one child. That's just having a pet that talks," Bernadette shot back.

Gasping as she heard Penny say "Bernadette!", Amy finally managed to get out, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means there's a world of difference between one child and any more. You simply cannot comprehend the struggles of any mother with two or more children. Right, Penny?" Bernadette looked up at their blonde friend.

"Uh . . . uh . . . uh. Well, sure, more kids are harder," Penny mumbled, turning around to fill her glass at the sink again.

"Ugh." Bernadette rolled her eyes. "I don't know why I expect you to understand, either. You have a nanny!"

"Hey!" Penny turned around. "Yes, we have a baby-sitter than comes to the house. But it's not like she lives there. We're home alone with them in the evening and the weekends. We're a normal family. And it's only because Leonard did the math and it's actually cheaper that way than having to pay to put four kids in daycare."

"Four!" Amy lowered her wine glass with a furrowed brow and looked seriously at her friend, who'd blushed and looked away. She didn't want wine . . . She hadn't had any wine with the Thanksgiving feast at Raj and Stuart's . . . Actually, when we the last time Amy had seen her drinking wine? . . . She was wearing a tunic . . .

"Penny Hofstadter! Why didn't you tell us?" Amy yelled, setting her glass on the island.

"What?" Penny looked up. Amy just pointed to her midsection. Penny's hand went up on reflex, and, as her shirt came closer to her body, it confirmed Amy's suspicions. "Okay, you got me. I'm pregnant!"

"Jesus, Penny. You do know what causes that, don't you?" Bernadette asked.

"See, this is exactly why I didn't tell you! I knew you'd be all judgmental!" Penny huffed.

"We're not being judgmental. If this is what you wanted, I'm very happy for you," Amy protested. "We're merely expressing concern over a geriatric pregnancy -"

"I'm thirty-eight, not dead," Penny interrupted. "You were thirty-seven when you had Ada. You two just always forget I'm younger than you."

Amy nodded. "You're right." She put her wine glass up. "Let's toast to that then. To Baby Hofstadter Number Four!"

Penny smile and stepped over to clink her glass with Amy and Bernadette. "Thanks, guys. But this really is the last one. We talked about it, Leonard's going to get the snip-snip. Four kids is a lot. We're out of bedrooms!"

"Not when you have a nanny," Bernadette mumbled.

"Again, we do not have a nanny!" Penny said loudly.

Shooting Bernadette her own dirty look, Amy turned back to Penny. "When are you due?"

"April 29th. We were going to wait until it was obvious to tell everyone this time. See, we are aware of the risks," Penny said.

"Any names yet or are you doing to surprise us again?" Bernadette asked.

Relieved, Amy turned and smiled at her. Maybe her bad mood was passing. That was a perfectly normal question.

"Okay," Penny leaned against the counter across from them, "I might need your help. I really, really want Fawn if it's a girl. And I really want a girl, to even things up and to wear pink all the time. Frannie is turning into a tomboy, I think. But Leonard doesn't like it. He wants Fiona."

"Fawn?" Bernadette raised her eyebrows.

"Sure. It's so light and happy and airy. Fawns are cute and soft and they have those big eyes. It's adorable," Penny said, standing up again. "But this is a secret. Don't tell Leonard I told you. He loves that moment of announcing the name."

"Just please let me there when he tells Sheldon," Amy said.

Penny gave her a confused look, but Amy just smirked back. Then she continued, "Anyway, see, this is a great Thanksgiving! I'm thankful for the new baby, Bernadette is thankful that Jacob made it into the magnet school, Amy is thankful for her new study -"

"And that Ada also made it into the magnet school at age four -" Bernadette said.

"Exactly! So -" Penny tried to continue.

"And that Ada is a genius and that her grandmother watches her for free one day a week and that Sheldon agrees to watch her child for two whole weeks while she's in Denmark," Bernadette continued.

"What's going on, Bernadette?" Amy asked, turning on her stool. "You seem a little on edge."

"Oh, am I? I'm sorry," Bernadette reached for the bottle of wine. "I didn't mean to interrupt your perfect life with my mundane problems."

"What problems?" Amy asked, putting her hand out to touch her arm.

"Amy . . . " Penny muttered.

"What problems?" Bernadette pulled away from her. "You know what, I'm sick of how perfect you always make everything out to be! We all know the truth. Ada already thinks she's all that and a bag of chips and we all know Sheldon got kicked out of the field trip because he can't control himself! You can stop telling everyone he's perfect, Amy, we all know the only reason he seems like such a good father is because he's so immature himself, just like all our husbands. It's only because he's got a captive playmate now, but get him out in the real world with other children and we can all see what a narcissist he is!"

"Bernadette!" Amy yelled. "If you're angry with me about something, that's one thing, but I will not let you insult my husband or my daughter -"

"Ugh, I'm not taking this!" Bernadette stood and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Incredulous, Amy turned on her stool and put her forehead on her palm, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Oh, sweetie." Penny fluttered around the island, sitting on the stool Bernadette had just abandoned and put her hand on Amy's back.

"What was that?" Amy croaked out, her lungs and eyes burning with the approach of tears.

"Don't let her get to you. She's just going through a lot right now and she'd had too much to drink and she's not thinking clearly and -"

"What is she going through?" Amy raised her head. "She hasn't said anything to me. If there's something wrong, maybe I could help, give her some advice. But instead . . . why did she say those things?" Amy swallowed, feeling the tears in her eyes, pleading with Penny to explain it all away as some sort of simple misunderstanding.

"Listen, things are really bad with her and Howard right now. Um, I don't know if I should tell you this, but it's bad enough the D word has come up," Penny said, looking down.

"Divorce?" Amy gasped, the shock stilling her tears for a moment. Penny nodded. "Why hasn't she said anything to me? And what can be that bad? He's the man she vowed to spend the rest of her life with, he's the father of her children -"

"Sweetie." Penny took her hand. "That's why she hasn't said anything to you. Because she thinks you wouldn't understand, that you'd say things like that."

"What?"

"She didn't say this to me, but I think you and I both know that she's not the most maternal person in the world. Having two kids is really difficult for her. Plus she doesn't feel like Howard helps, that he never backs her up when she disciplines them, and then they fight because he thinks she's too strict, that she yells too much. And -" Penny took a deep breath "- he said some awful things last week, that he thinks Jacob's shyness and fidgeting are because he's frightened of her -"

"But she's never hurt him! That's ridiculous! It's just that he's a Wolowitz."

" - and Lucy's wildness is all because she's being defiant -"

"She's three, of course she's being defiant!"

"So now Bernadette thinks everyone would be happier if she wasn't there, if she left -"

"But they're her children!" Amy screamed. "You don't get to opt out of that!"

"I agree, I agree," Penny said, squeezing her hand. "Don't get mad at me. I'm just explaining to you what Bernie's going through."

"And that makes it okay for her to say horrible things about my family?"

"No, of course not. But . . . " Penny shrugged.

"But what?" Amy demanded.

"Things are going really good for you right now. Your job, Ada, even Sheldon is like the world's greatest dad - no one saw that coming - and it's really hard for her to see all good things at your house when she doesn't feel like there's any at hers."

"But we're not perfect. This study is stressful to me. And like the field trip this week, Sheldon really was horrible and . . . and . . ." Amy trailed off as the first tear fell.

Penny leaned forward. "I know things aren't perfect. They're not perfect at my house, either. But sometimes, it really does seem like you got everything you ever wanted. And sometimes the three of you . . . oh, sweetie, I love you all, but sometimes you're all a bit too proud of your accomplishments, you know?"

"So you hate us, too?" Amy wailed.

"No, no, that's not what I said. Listen, I've messed this up. I love you. And Sheldon and Ada. And Leonard loves you, too. And, believe it or not, so does Bernadette. It's just hard to talk to you sometimes, because everything is so good and you always have opinions and . . ." Penny took a deep breath. "Just give her time to calm down and then go talk to her. No, offer to listen. She just wants to feel like someone understands her and cares."

"I do care," Amy protested. "But I don't understand how she could seriously be considering leaving her children. I can't pretend that I do. And won't let her insult me or the people I love."

"Maybe the divorce thing isn't real. Maybe it was just said in anger. Because people say things all the time they don't mean when they're angry. Like all the stuff she said about Sheldon. Don't take it seriously," Penny offered.

"How can I not?" Amy asked. "When you just calmly backed her up?"

"I didn't back her up!" Penny protested. She growled. "I hate this, too. I don't think Bernadette should divorce Howard, either, but it's not my decision. And I especially don't want for all of us to be fighting, we should support each other. I'm just saying we should all be careful about what we say."

"I think you need to leave," Amy said softly.

"Oh, Ames, don't be mad at me, too. I'm not backing Bernadette up! I'm just -"

"Please, just go. Before we both say something else we might regret."

Penny nodded and squeezed her hand. "Call me, okay?"

Waiting until the door was shut, Amy ran to the bedroom and threw herself on her pillow and sobbed, ignoring the surprised meow from Belle. What had happened to her best friends? How long had they hated her this much? It wasn't her fault that a few good things in her life had aligned all at once. And not everything was perfect. Ada was still a temperamental child at times, like all young children. Sheldon still hadn't had his big career break through, and, although, he never complained, she knew it weighed on him and -

"Amy?" he said softly.

She jerked in surprised and turned her head slightly. "I - didn't - hear- you - come - in," she sobbed.

Sheldon crawled over the bed and rubbed her hair. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not sure what happened but Penny came downstairs crying and told me I needed to come up. What's wrong?"

"Ada?"

"Raj and Stuart are taking her out fly kites. Amy, what happened? Bernadette came downstairs yelling at Howard they had to leave and then Penny was crying and now you're crying and to think you said Thanksgiving here would probably be less dramatic -"

"They - hate - us!"

"What?"

Rolling angrily on her pillow, Amy looked up at him. His brow was deeply furrowed. "They all hate us. They think we're perfect and that we're stuck up about how perfect we are and that they can't talk to us like real people."

"Who? I don't understand."

Amy sat up. "All of them, but especially Bernadette. Apparently she and Howard are having problems, but somehow it's my fault because I think my family is perfect."

"That doesn't make any sense." She would not have thought it possible, but Sheldon's brow furrowed more. "Start at the beginning."

After a deep, shaky breath, Amy managed to get out most of the story as she remembered it. Sheldon raise this eyebrows at the mention of Penny's pregnancy and he, too, yelled out, "Divorce!" but he mostly remained silent. When she finished, the talking having quieted her tears, Sheldon was looking down at his lap.

"Sheldon, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have have told you want she said about you, that was cruel -"

"No, it's okay." Sheldon shook his head and looked up. "I'm actually used to it, with all of Howard's jokes and such. I've known him a long time. All of the guys used to take mean shots at me. They're much better behaved now."

"Oh." Amy shuffled her way closer to him and took his hand.

"Really, it's fine. What upsets me is that you had to endure all that, that Bernadette put you through that." Belle bumped against his palm, and he looked down to rub the top of her head. "I also feel . . . guilty," he quietly intoned, not looking up.

"Guilty?" she said, raising her eyebrows.

Sheldon sighed. "I knew about the big fight. Not about divorce, but Howard told us about the fight. However, I promised him I wouldn't say a word. I thought that included you, but now I regret not telling you, so you would have known the whole situation."

"Oh." Amy paused and thought. "That's tricky, I think. Does promising Howard - or anyone else - that you won't say something mean that you can't tell your spouse?" She sighed softly. "I don't know. So you have nothing to feel guilty about, it's a murky moral situation. Anyway, it doesn't matter, because apparently everything I say is wrong regardless."

"No, Amy, nothing you say is wrong, I'm certain of it!" Sheldon protested. "You are not responsible for the Wolowitzs' martial troubles. Or Bernadette's generally foul attitude."

"But . . . even Penny said we're too proud of our accomplishments," she whispered.

"That's because Penny hasn't discovered a previously unknown neurotransmitter. Or skipped two grades in school. Her accomplishments are acting in a low-budget Syfy series and a permanently occupied uterus."

"Sheldon, that's not helpful." Amy shook her head. "Plus, I'm worried that's exactly the sort of things she was talking about."

"So maybe we should keep the last sentence between you and me. But the first two are correct. Amy -" he reached up for her face, running his fingers along the edge of her cheek "- you are brilliant. I know your work isn't done yet, that you're still proving your theory, but you and I both know all signs indicate you're on the verge of a major discovery. You should be proud of that, you should never apologize for that. What is it that you are always telling Ada? 'Be modest about your body but never about your mind.'"

"But what if they really do hate us and decide they'll never speak to us again?"

"Almost twenty years of experience has taught me that our friends will not abandon us for our greatness. Despite all the times they've been unreasonable over the years, they always flocked back to my apartment, then our home. They can't resist us. We're irresistible." Sheldon grinned.

In spite of herself, Amy felt her lips turning up. Then she shook her head. "No, that doesn't help, either. I need something practical, a doable action plan, a way to fix this with Bernadette."

His grin fell, and her husband nodded. "I know." He paused. "You can tell her that one of my flaws is that I'm not good at apologies."

"Yes, you are, when you need to be," Amy said.

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to apologize for being yourself. You're always saying that no one, but especially a woman, shouldn't apologize for being smart. You talk about how important it is to instill that in Ada. And I agree with you. So why would you apologize to Bernadette for that?"

Amy nodded in agreement. "It's so complicated. No, I never want Ada to feel she has to apologize for being intelligent. But we shouldn't be teaching her to be haughty or arrogant, either."

Sheldon rearranged himself so he was leaning against the headboard, and pulled Amy in next to him. She rested her head against his shoulder, and marveled, not for the first time, how this simple act made her feel better, less unsure of herself.

"I'm sorry, Amy. I'm sorry this happened to you. And I'm sorry I don't have any good advice," he said softly.

"At lest we're in the same confused boat together," Amy replied.

"If I'm going to be confused, I only want it to be with you."

Amy smiled into his chest. "Likewise." They sat in silence a minute, Sheldon's hand rubbing her arm. "What if there's no good answer? I won't lie to her if she asks my opinion. I could never condone leaving one's children, and I cannot fathom leaving the father of my child."

"Thank goodness for that!" Sheldon blurted out, squeezing her. "I don't think you should be untruthful with her. Do you think she's serious, do you think she'd really leave them?"

Shrugging, Amy said, "I don't know. And it's Penny who told me that, I never heard Bernadette say it. Even if she said that to Penny, who knows if she really meant it."

Sheldon took a deep breath and tilted his head back. "Don't you wish our life was like a sitcom and all our problems got resolved in a speedy and improbable way?"

A chuckle bubbled up out of her, and then she frowned for having allowed it. "But that's not real life." She sighed deeply. "Do you think I'll ever figure out what to do?"

"Of course. And I want you to know that whatever you decide, I'll support you. I'll even stand beside you and hold your hand, if it helps." Sheldon kissed the top of her head.

"It always does."

* * *

Even though she knew it was important to Sheldon to prove he could handle more than one child, Amy was happy that Howard had said he would join them for mini golf. Four children were a handful for anyone, and Howard probably needed to let off some tension, too.

Amy stood next to Bernadette on their front porch, waving as Howard drove away in their mini van with Sheldon and the kids. She waved and watched them far longer than she needed to, her heart pounding in her chest. Finally, they could no longer be seen, and there was nothing left to distract her from the reason she'd come.

Taking a deep breath, she turned toward Bernadette. "Thank you for allowing me to come to your house, to talk to you."

Bernadette shrugged. "You got the kids off my hands for a couple of hours, so it was the least I could do."

"Listen, I need to say something first, before we go inside." Amy paused, hoping her rehearsed lines sounded as good now as they did when she practiced them with Sheldon. "I'm here to listen. I love you, and I want you to know that I don't want you go through anything alone that you don't want to. I may not understand some of your thoughts and decisions, but I respect they are yours to make. I want to listen and give you support, but I will try to hold my advice back until you ask for it. I will _not_, however, be less than honest with my advice. If you ask my opinion, I will give it freely, even if I disagree with you and it may be the last thing you want to hear. Additionally, I will not allow you say rude, untruthful things about anyone in my family. None of us are perfect, but we are all trying our best to be happy. Which, I think, you are, too. Yes, we are having a good year, but we've had very, very bad years before. And do you know what I needed and appreciated most those years? Your support and your friendship. So I am here to offer you the same, with the conditions I stipulated. If you either don't want or feel you cannot meet those conditions, then I will respect that reality, too, and I will leave."

Having finished her speech, Amy held her breath. Did she make her point clearly? The last thing she wanted to do was antagonize Bernadette further or to add more confusion or pain to her current situation. But she had standards, and Sheldon and Ada deserved respect.

"Amy, I'm sorry. I said some things I shouldn't have said. I'm just really unhappy and confused and . . . I don't know what to do." Bernadette looked down. "I would love your support and your friendship. I know I couldn't make it through anything without you and Penny, and I never want to lose that." She looked back up. "So if you'll forgive me, I would gladly accept your conditions in order to keep you as my friend."

All Amy had to do was reach out her arms and Bernadette fell into them with a sob.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	51. Celebrations

**Celebrations (_takes place significantly after_ The Positronic Man)**

* * *

_"Humanity is defined by our flaws?" Sheldon asked._

_"Yes. It's always what makes us interesting. And lovable."_

_"I don't think flaws make us lovable."_

_Amy smiled and reached for his hand. "Really? Because I've loved sitting up here with you tonight, because you were so impatient for this update and you're so obsessed with getting everything just perfect and synchronized."_

* * *

It is the simplicity of the evening that makes it perfect. Their lives have been so chaotic lately. But, lying there, his head resting on her stomach, looking at Ada's long, bare legs, her feet hanging off the end of the sofa because of her height, he feels content. The air is thick and sultry with humidity. But Ada has refused to turn the air conditioning on today for some reason. Instead, they have spent their afternoon swimming at the pool. They had a little tiff about it, because he wanted to go to the lake and enjoy nature, but she said there were less germs in the pool. He gave in because Ada looked like an old Hollywood diva, in her white rimmed sunglasses and high waisted bikini complete with a bullet bra. And a swim cap! She dove and cut through through the pale blue water effortlessly. She was always a swimmer. He used to think it odd that such a prodigy, someone who lives so fully in their mind for their mind, would enjoy a sport. It is anti-stereotypical. But when he sees her dive, he understands. It's all math to her: the parabolas, the rotations, the arcs.

"It's our last hurrah of summer before we have to buckle down. Let it feel like summer," she says about the heat. And so their idyll is almost at a close.

For one and half years, he has been with this marvelous, quirky woman. He always arranged his schedule so that he had no classes on Friday so that he could take the train down from Purdue and walk to her house late on Thursday nights. She had wanted to meet him at the station and walk with him, but no, he didn't want her out walking alone in the dark. They had fought about it, but she had acquiesced. He knows her parents, he knows from where her stubbornness comes. The fact that she let him have this victory is measure of her love. Ada was raised to believe the world will bend to her whims.

Usually, she was asleep, because she is a morning person, and he would collapse exhausted next to her. Sometimes, he would lift the blankets up and crawl up to her from the bottom of the bed, his lips gently kissing the inside of her calves until she hushed, "Welcome home" and spread her legs for him, his mouth seeking the sweet nectar he had been thinking about for days. Sometimes, he would have just laid down and she would straddle him, her long hair hanging around her body, and she rode him just as Lady Godiva rode her horse.

Rarely, he would arrive to every light burning, and Ada would be deep in her fog. First it was her book, now it is her dissertation. Her hair would be in a long braid, her clothes a distracted eccentric combination (as opposed to her normal carefully executed eccentric choices), but she would always stop what she was doing to smile at him and ask him about his journey when he entered.

"It's okay," he'd say. "You're working. Don't let me interrupt you."

"I never want you to feel like you haven't been missed. Because you have," she'd say. "I've been waiting."

Then he would kiss her head if she was at her desk or her shoulder if she were standing at her whiteboards, pour her a fresh mug of coffee, and go to bed alone as the fog descended upon her again. He has long since given up being bothered that Ada was both getting her PhD and had published a bestselling book in the time it was taking him to get his Masters. Maybe he was never bothered in the first place, as it seems just like something that would happen to her. The world bends to her whims.

Ah, the book. It had come, it seemed to the world, out of nowhere. But he knew how much work she put into it. Oddly, its success had not surprised her. A graphic novel about robots told using cubism and new geometric equations becomes a phenomena, holds the number one spot on _The New York Times _fiction bestseller list for thirty-two weeks? Not the graphic novel list, the fiction list. She shrugged. The world will bend to her whims.

Fortunately, her contract had not stipulated a book tour or any interviews. Because when was the last time a graphic novelist warranted such attention? There wasn't even a photo of her on the book jacket. Actually, it took eight weeks on the _NYT _list before there was even a printed book jacket. Reading the ebook wasn't enough, people wanted to touch it, to hold it, to read it the old fashioned way. Oh, dozens, if not hundreds, of offers came her way. She turned them all down, except for an interview for the local newspaper, because she had grown to love this Midwestern town. No photo, of course.

He couldn't help but read the reviews, most of them glowing and effusive in their praise. A critical darling. A masterpiece of logic and emotions. An unique, seminal event in the history of literature. But the few detractors, the pockets of back lash, the there-is-no-art-in-math-nor-math-in-art crowd, the why-does-it-have-to-be-so-complex whiners wound him deeply, his heart being pierced in place of hers. Perhaps because it always has been hers. He had asked her why she read so few reviews, why she seemed so unconcerned. Ada spoke with her usual calm, "I had something to say, something to prove, and I did it. I have said my piece, and I know it's as good as it can be. Let them have their say now. Let them prove me wrong." A little uptick in her lips. "If they can." He knows her parents, he knows from where her confidence comes.

And so their weeks maintained their rhythms. Even during the summers, as Ada worked on her dissertation and he took classes to finish sooner. But two weeks ago, he finished his last class. It was just his thesis now, so he was able to move down to Bloomington permanently. Ada told him she wanted a honeymoon to celebrate. No work, no classes, just them. Two weeks of laziness.

"But we're not married," he had pointed out. "It can't be a honeymoon."

She had shrugged. "Call it whatever you like. But you know I hate the word staycation."

Now, the late July mugginess hanging about them, he thinks it truly has been a honeymoon, and not just for the obvious reason. The cats are sitting by the open window, sniffing the approaching thunderstorm in the air. _Jeopardy! _is on, tossing the holograms of questions into the center of the room. Ada is both reading a novel and blandly announcing all the correct answers at the same time. It is a habit she has.

"Ada, do you ever get one wrong?" he asks.

"No." He knows her parents, he knows from where her honesty comes. After the turn of a page and a murmured "Cicero," she says, "But sometimes I don't know the answer, so I don't speak. Anything sports related. Potent Potables stumps me. Pop culture isn't my best category. Yasmine used to always beat me on those questions."

"Yasmine, a _Jeopardy! _champion?" He smiles and rubs his finger along the little strip of exposed skin just above the waistband of her shorts. "Your brash friend is quite the secret keeper."

It occurs to him, suddenly, in retrospect, that Yasmine had kept quite a large secret for a very long time. He should thank her.

Ada chuckles but puts her index finger on the back of his hand to still it. "Stop it. That tickles."

Before he can comment, the book - one of those old, frayed cloth-covered ones, who knows where she got it - slams shut above his head with a cloud of dust. "Mom would love this book." A pause. "Computer?" Ada calls, her voice louder. He hears a familiar chime. It seems incongruous, technology in this old, beat-up rental house. But for all her whimsy, Ada is not a luddite. "Send the last book I checked into Goodreads to my mother as a reading suggestion."

After Siri chimes again, he says, "You can call her now and tell her yourself if you like. I don't mind."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because it's Book Club Night. First they want to be alone to discuss the book and then they have book sex."

"Ada!" he says, as he lifts his head off of her stomach to look up at her.

"What?" she blinks, looking down at him, her blue eyes piercing behind her glasses. "It's true."

"Gross! They're your parents!" Although he is curious about what exactly book sex is . . .

Ada smiles. "How do you think I got here? I have no doubt my parents have a very healthy sex life. Have you seen the way they look at each other?"

"Jesus, Ada." He rubs his hand over his face to try and rub out that mental image and puts his head back down. "What would they say if they knew you were talking like that?"

"Dad would be mortified. Mom would be proud."

What can he say to that? Nothing. She may be correct; she probably is correct. He does not want to know. The _Final Jeopardy! _theme song begins and he starts to hum along.

"Don't you hope we'll still be having sex at their age?" she asks softly.

He raises his eyebrows._ Honeymoon_.

* * *

Maybe he should have thought of this before. Ada is not subtle. In fact, subtly is so far from her wheelhouse, he's certain they weren't even hints. Ada wouldn't hint. Ada never hints. He watches her in the thunderstorm after they have made love and after she has fallen asleep. Her copper hair glows with each strike of lightening. How does she sleep through this? He has never gotten use to the tornado sirens, and he is tense, listening, waiting for one to start. Why is she not afraid of them? Granted, it is not like Ada to be afraid of anything, but isn't that the story of how she broke her arm as a child? He has some hazy memory of a tornado being involved.

Suddenly her eyes are open, with that little line between her brows just like her mother. "What?" she mumbles.

"I can't sleep," he admits. "What if there's a tornado?"

She puts her hand over his. He did not even realize he was fidgeting. "It will be fine. Go to sleep. I'm here now."

_Yes._

* * *

Yes, he should have thought of this before. The excuses he has to make. He has to wait for the work fog to descend before he can leave unnoticed. Because he is used to always telling her where he is going. Fortunately, the fog is frequent and intense. She is putting the finishing touches on her dissertation as she has a date to defend in early October. Her parents are coming for it.

No. No. No. Even the most unique one is too shiny.

"Too big, too showy?" The saleswoman is trying to be helpful.

"Oh, no, she lives for showy." He smiles. "Too new, I think. Thank you for your time."

A completely different type of store. Musty. Stuffy. Art deco? Maybe. Art nouveau? Maybe. Not too shiny, not too new. Then it clicks. Too expected.

"Do you have anything that isn't a diamond?"

"I have some cocktail rings. I'm not sure they're what you're looking for. Some woman find cocktail rings . . . conspicuous for everyday wear."

"She's a conspicuous kind of woman." The clerk raises his eyebrows but pulls out another tray.

Jade, the perfect shade of green. Emerald cut. Surrounded by seed pearls. And is that rose gold? He picks it up gently, holding up between his thumb and forefinger to catch the light.

"You'll never find another one that unique," the clerk says.

"It's perfect." He can barely whisper it, so much of his breath is gone.

* * *

He definitely should have thought of this before. Maybe back when he was born. Because it would take a lifetime to come up with the perfect plan. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is too over the top for Ada. Except publicity. She likes to be wildly eccentric, but very privately so. He ruminates all the way into early October.

It's not because he's going to ask her father for permission. Or even both of her parents. Ada would hate that; all of her mother's feminist ideals have become hers. But he's carried it everywhere for weeks, and it's burning a whole in his pocket. So he volunteers to take them out to dinner for Ada while they are visiting. She claims she is not nervous about her defense, and, although he believes her, he talks her into a night alone to relax. "You've been so busy with your parents and preparing to defend. Just take a bath, read, pet the cats, relax."

After a little coaxing, she agrees. It is a sign of her love.

"I need your help," he can't help but blurt out to her parents at the restaurant as soon as they are seated, he is so nervous.

They raise their eyebrows in unison. It is a habit they have.

"Yes?" Amy asks.

"Uh . . . um . . . uh." This is awful. His hands are shaking as he pulls the box out of his pocket and sets it open on the table. "How? When? I can't think of anything."

Amy gasps and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh!"

"What?" Sheldon asks.

"He's going to propose," Amy whispers.

"Oh." Sheldon's eyebrows fall deeply as his brow furrows.

This has gone from bad to worse. They are shocked. They are disappointed or unhappy or something. Then he feels Amy's hand on his. "We are so happy for you."

"You are?" he asks.

"We are? - ouch!" Sheldon says, shying away from his wife's elbow.

"We're gaining a son, Sheldon, not losing a daughter," Amy whispers sharply to him.

Sheldon is staring at him. Oh, that can't be good.

"Do you love her?" Ada's father asks.

"Yes, of course."

"She's only twenty-three, you know. Probably too young to marry," Sheldon says.

Feeling his heart sink, he replies, "But she's very mature. And so accomplished."

"Obviously. She's a Cooper. But you do know she still has her Noble Prize to win? She doesn't need distractions."

"Sheldon!" Amy breaks in. "Stop it. He loves her. She loves him. Leave them be." Amy smiles over at him, and he warms to Ada's mother even more. She's odd, but kind. For all their oddities, he has always liked Ada's parents. Once, in Boston, Ada mentioned they were getting old, and that struck him as a such an odd thing to say. Yes, her mother's hair is all gray now, and if he looks closely he notices a few gray hairs at Sheldon's temples, but they remain as vibrant and opinionated as he has always known them. At least they still have all their hair, unlike his own father.

"Hmmmm. You really, truly love her?" Sheldon asks again.

How could he doubt it! "Yes! I'm crazy about her!"

"No, that's not what I meant. Anyone can be crazy. Not me, of course, my mother had me tested. What are her flaws?"

"Her _flaws_?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Yes. Someone very wise once told me that it is our flaws that make us both human and lovable. Meaning, in part, that it takes love to know every single thing you can't stand about a person and yet you can't imagine being driven mad by anyone else. So what are her flaws?" Sheldon leans forward over the table to whisper, "I know she's a Cooper, but even we aren't perfect. You never heard me say that." He sits back up. "Go on."

Taking a deep breath, he squirms in his chair. Ada's father is serious, he can tell. "Um, well, she . . . she steals all the hot water for her shower." Sheldon looks unimpressed. "I never have any closet space. Or hangers." Sheldon rolls his eyes. A deep breath. "She can be a little -" he makes a twirling motion around his temple "- all up here sometimes, like she's a barely present on Earth. She can be arrogant. She's very stubborn. Sometimes she, um, makes a bad choice and she refuses to let go of it . . ." He coughs, feeling that perhaps he has revealed too much of an opinion about Ada's past. "She can be too honest and blunt in public and that offends some people." He stops, feeling very uncomfortable saying all these negative things about the woman he loves to her parents. Was it a test? Should he have refused to answer?

But Sheldon smiles. "Yes, that all sounds about right." He actually looks satisfied when he nods, as though he'd pick all those flaws for himself if he could. "Can you tell when she's not in bed even in the middle of a deep sleep? Is she the first person you want to tell anything and everything to? Do you feel like you'll never fully understand her? Do you want die trying?"

He sucks in his breath. He has never heard Sheldon say such . . . personal things before. Amy is looking at her husband like he just invented love. Swallowing hard, he nods.

Sheldon nods back. Then he smiles slightly. "You'll just know."

"Know what?"

"The how and the when. You just know when to propose."

"May I ask, how did you purpose to Amy? I've never heard the story. Does Ada know the story?"

Sheldon looks mortified. Amy looks proud.

Oh, gross. He should have never asked.

* * *

"How do I look? Do you think this dress is okay?"

It is then that he knows she really is nervous. Ada has never once questioned her appearance. And why should she? The world bends to her will. And she knows it. She actually doesn't look like herself. She's wearing a dress he doesn't remember seeing before, something navy blue and simple, too simple for Ada. A string of pearls - oh, yes, he has seen those before, they were her grandmother's. Her hair, her beautiful hair, is twisted up tightly at the base of her neck. He doesn't like it, it's too plain and expected; he lives for her idiosyncrasies.

"You look . . . professional," he says and it sounds like a disappointment even to his own ears.

Ada frowns. "I think I should today."

"You're probably right."

* * *

"Where is she?" Sheldon grumbles, looking around Bloomington's swankiest restaurant.

"It's fine, Sheldon, she said she'd be right back. She probably wants to call Yasmine or some other friends," Amy replies.

Relief floods him because he, too, is baffled by where his girlfriend ran off to as soon as they arrived at the restaurant. A flash of something bright catches the corner of his eye and he turns. Ada. She has changed clothes; where? in the bathroom? is that what was in her leather satchel? Her hair is down now, her dress is blindingly shiny and gold in the candle-lit space. She looks like a statue walking toward them. So much better. God, he loves her.

Raising his glass as he stands, he speaks, loud enough everyone in the restaurant turns to look at them. Although, they were probably already staring, Ada has that effect. "Congratulations, Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper!"

She twirls for him, and he laughs. "It's my winged victory dress!"

They eat and they laugh. Ada is radiant, satisfied. Her parents are bursting with pride. Sheldon, especially, peppers her with questions about her future. Ada waves her hand dismissively. "I have the house through the summer. And we're waiting for this guy to finish his Masters. Maybe I'll take some time to relax. Read. Maybe write something else. I don't know. I don't need to be constantly working."

Although he is embarrassed that she is perhaps putting her life on a short hiatus for him, the look on Sheldon's face is priceless.

"What are you doing tomorrow at four a.m?" Sheldon suddenly asks over their appetizer.

"Four a.m.?" Ada is surprised. "Sleeping."

"But the Nobel Prizes are announced tomorrow," Sheldon protests.

Ada waves her hand over her plate. "I'm sure if it's somebody we know, you'll call."

For most of the meal, he watches them. Ada and her parents are such an odd trio, and yet so well suited for each other. They finish each other's sentences, for crying out loud. Ada, especially, likes to pick at her father, to challenge him. Amy's smirks at him across the table, as though he is now allowed to share her enjoyment of this. They are all so happy tonight. Well, why not? Ada is now, finally, Dr. Cooper. There's this game they play he can never follow. Counterfactuals. What does the title even mean? He has no idea what they're talking about.

Suddenly, it all becomes clear.

"Excuse me," he timidly pipes up. "Ada is correct. It all depends on whether or not the mandrake root is an annual or a perennial in order for cross pollination to occur. Without cross pollination, werewolves would not transform just on the full moon."

Sheldon's eyebrows go up. Amy grins. Ada turns to him, and he basks in the full glow of her smile. She is so happy - with her new doctorate, with her family, with this game, with him. It has all come together in this restaurant, it has all become clear.

"Ada, I -" he stammers. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the box. "Maybe this isn't the right time or place, but I think it is." Her eyebrows go up as he pushes his chair back and gets down on one knee. Feeling hot and flushed and embarrassed as he knows all eyes turn to him, he opens the box. "Dr. Ada Fowler Cooper, will you marry me?"

She starts to cry and nods repeatedly. He has surprised her and that is not an easy thing to do. "Yes, yes, yes!," she croaks.

Then there is applause from the restaurant and tears from her mother and a hand shake from her father and he picks her up even though she is taller and he spins her round and round for all to see as she laughs, because she is going to be his, this genius in gold.

Later, after they have drunk champagne until they were tipsy and made love in front off the fireplace where they first did, they fall into a deep, fulfilled sleep, visions of their wedding filling their dreams.

Until every electronic device in their house goes off at four a.m., when the phone calls start to come flooding in.

* * *

"My princess really looks like a princess!" Uncle Raj coos, his arms already wide for Ada's hug. "You look beautiful," he whispers in her ear.

"Thank you." Ada pulls away and smiles, then turns to get a hug from Uncle Stuart, too.

"Here, we brought you something," Stuart says, holding out a small box.

Pushing aside her veil, Ada opens the lid and smiles. Inside is a white handkerchief, trimmed in lace, and embroidered with the words "The Bride" in pale blue. "It's lovely. Thank you."

Stuart starts, "Your something blue -"

"- And something to dry your tears of joy," Raj finishes for him. "Look, I have my own." He holds up a handkerchief without the lace, the words "Uncle of the Bride" clearly visible. Ada chuckles.

Mom leans in close, and Ada hands her the handkerchief to inspect. "Thank you both so much. And for coming out here for the wedding."

"No where is as important as this," Raj says, his voice breaking already, and Ada opens her arms to encompass both of her favorite uncles. In the middle of their group hug, Stuart says, "Raj, you'll ruin her dress if you keep blubbering like that."

They pull away and Ada squeezes their hands before the leave, Raj crying, Stuart's arm around him.

"They miss you terribly, you know," Mom says softly.

"The feeling is mutual. Our weekly phone calls just aren't the same," Ada replies, turning to inspect herself one more time in the mirror. She can't believe the day has finally come. It seems so foreign, that tall woman in the most gigantic white wedding dress she could find looking back at her.

Yasmine brushes her shoulder and Ada looks over at her and smiles. She allowed Yasmine to select her own dress, and she's chosen black, of course, something long and lean and simple. It's perfect. Taking the handkerchief back, Ada brushes the finely sewn words and says, "I don't have anything borrowed."

"What?" Mom asks. She looks lovely, too, in the same blue dress she wore to Ada's Nobel Prize ceremony, her hair twisted up intricately.

"My dress is new, my necklace -" she reaches up to touch Grandmother Fowler's pearls "- is old, this -" she squeezes the gift "- is blue. But I don't have anything borrowed. I need something borrowed."

"I thought you didn't believe in all that," Mom says. "That's what you told Dad when you said you weren't wearing your Nobel Medal as your something blue."

"I need something borrowed and I'm almost out of time!" Ada can hear her voice getting higher and she doesn't quite understand where this hysteria is coming from.

"Blimey, Junior, you picked a fine time to become superstitious," Yasmine says, but she begins to dig through everything they brought with them to get dressed.

"Here." Ada turns and sees her mother twisting and pulling her wedding rings off. She takes Ada's hand and sets the pair in her palm, folding her fingers over them.

"Mom, I can't take these. I've never seen you without them," Ada protests softly.

"Just for the ceremony. From one very happy bride to another."

Ada reaches up with the handkerchief to wipe the tear away from her mother's face. "You'll ruin your make-up."

"It doesn't matter," Mom says, and Ada accepts her hug and squeezes the shorter woman tight before she slides her mother's wedding rings down a finger on her right hand. Then, before she can tell how much fun she's had planning this wedding with her, how much she regrets their arguments in the past, how much she loves her, how much she's always loved her, how she was correct all along about love and . . . everything, there's a knock at the door. "That will be your father. Come on, Yasmine, let's go get in line and give them a moment of privacy."

Yasmine rushes over to hand her the bouquet and they embrace for just a second before the two woman scurry out the door. Gripping her flowers tighter, Ada takes a deep breath and looks at her father, framed in the doorway.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello." He steps inside, shutting the door behind him, and walks up to her, and Ada sees his eyes, taking her all in, from train to veil.

"Thank you for doing this. I know you think walking me down the aisle - this whole wedding - is overkill, outdated traditions for sentimental minds, but -"

"Your mother says I've gotten sentimental in my old age," he says, shrugging. Ada smiles. "I understand it is part of the father-of-the-bride ritual to impart sage martial advice at this moment. I thought about discussing the need to fold the hand towels properly or assist in the taking out of the recycling, but I think that's beneath someone of your intelligence."

"It's okay, Dad." Ada reaches for his arm and steps up next to him, preparing to take this singular walk with him. "Remember, just squeeze my hand if you get nervous. Everyone is looking at me, not you."

"But I have advice." Ada turns to look at him. "My advise is to love him more than he deserves. There are many, many times your mother loved me when I didn't deserve it. And, no matter what I'd done wrong, it was always her love that pulled me back to her. Love him every single day of your life."

"I've loved him ever since he called me Jesus Christ," Ada whispers.

"It was a good sign. He recognized your greatness."

A chuckle escapes Ada's throat. "My point is he's always loved me far more than I deserve."

"I know." Dad nods. "Oh, Ada, I cannot tell you how happy this has made me. He's what I always wanted for you."

Before the tears can start flowing, the music swells and then someone opens the door. Ada steps out into the hallway and to the next door, then out into the sunshine with her father. She watches Yasmine's back retreating from her, and then the music changes again. One last look at her father, who squeezes her hand tight as the crowd stands, and Ada takes a step with him, her gown rustling and fanning out behind her.

As she walks slowly and smiles for the photographer, Ada looks around the crowd. Aunt Missy, of course, and her two cousins, although she never really felt like they had much in common. There is a ting of ache in heart, that MeeMaw and Grandmother couldn't be here. Aunt Penny and Uncle Leonard, Penny still a beautiful woman, still cuddled up to Leonard. Their family takes a whole row, all four of Ada's honorary cousins and Fenton's girlfriend. Uncle Raj on the aisle, taking his own video as he asked to do, but Ada knows it will be useless as his hand shakes in time with tears streaming down his face. Uncle Stuart is holding his arm, giving strength and smiling. Even the Kripkes have come: Barry, Sarah, and Corrina. Faisal and Oliver made the trip, too. Howard and Bernadette, and even at this moment, Ada cannot help but see their hands intertwined. Jacob is right, after all these years, they really are getting back together for good, it seems. Lucy is with them, a broad smile on her face. Yasmine has stopped and turned in her appointed spot and she winks mischievously, causing Ada's heart to expand even further. Most importantly Mom, in the front row, looking regal in her blue dress and silver hair, happy, beautiful tears streaming down her face. Ada feels Dad's grip on her arm tighten, and she knows that it's because he's caught sight of her, too, and his heart is fluttering for his own bride. Ada's thumb bends in to trace the rings her mother has let her borrow, as she knows she has finally gained what her parents have.

They've all come, everyone in their lives, who had helped them make it to this milestone in some fashion. Even though she knows she is young, it seems like so many years. Too many years of remaining ignorant before she could get to this moment. Too many years wasted for a mistake. But it didn't matter now. Today, Ada is surrounded by love and joy and only the brightest of horizons.

And, there, at the opposite end of the aisle, he stands as short as and even more handsome than she ever remembers him. There is a swell in the music as it approaches the end of this march, and her eyes meet his, even though he has been watching her all along. For that moment, for every moment thereafter, for so many moments before, Ada only has eyes for Jacob.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_

_**I realize these time shifts in some recent chapters of **_**After Dark**_** may not be everyone's cup of tea, that perhaps they aren't what you read **_**After Dark**_** for or perhaps you find them too jarring or confusing. And that's okay; I respect your opinion and can understand it. I did consider these factors and others when I debated within myself about whether or not that was the direction that **_**After Dark**_** should go. It could very well prove to be a mistake in the end, but, ultimately, it's the way I want to tell my story; not just to recount Ada's story but also to tell it out of order, to link the themes to Sheldon and Amy's story. Never fear, yes, you will eventually get all the details about Ada and what happened to Dylan and how she ended up with Jacob. Until then . . .**_


	52. Rendezvous

**Rendezvous (_takes place after_ The Thinking Engine)**

* * *

_"Wait! How about I read it aloud for your pleasure?" Sheldon asked quickly, his heart hammering. Perhaps he should have opened with that essential detail. Why else would he be interested in her poorly written, historically inaccurate smut?_

_There was a pause as Amy bent back down toward her screen. "Seriously?"_

_He shrugged. "Do you want me to?" he whispered._

_"Only if you want," she replied softly._

_Licking his lips, Sheldon said, "Maybe we should make ourselves comfortable first?"_

_"Sheldon Cooper, I love you so much," Amy said._

_He raised an eyebrow. "Just remember that when you're imagining yourself in that musty library screaming Mr. Darcy's name. Switching to the iPad . . . "_

* * *

Years ago, on their first Christmas Eve as a married couple, Amy had discovered _Love Actually_ on Netflix and cajoled Sheldon into cuddling and watching it with her, the room lit only by the bulbs of the Christmas tree. It perhaps didn't need to be said that Sheldon hated the movie. He huffed and sighed and squirmed to the point Amy almost volunteered to turn it off. However, her favorite scene of all was the very end, when all the couples and families reunited at the airport with so much joy and so many smilies and hugs. Although Sheldon not-peacefully suffered through until the very last, Amy never asked him to watch it again with her.

Now, airports were not joyous for her at all. She had seen far too many in the past few months. The accolades that came with her discovery were thrilling, of course, but they didn't make up for lonely hours on the road without her husband, without her family. There were no smiles in the TSA lines. There was no hug from the taciturn driver that invariably met her with a sign, even at the Burbank Bob Hope Airport to take her home. The driver and the closer, smaller airport were perks provided by Caltech for their newest star researcher. But she would have gladly exchanged them for just another week at home.

So Sheldon was the last person she expected to be waiting for her at the arrival lounge. He, too, was holding a sign, but it said 'Dr. Fowler, Genius.'

Her face broke open and she ran toward him, throwing herself at him, just like she was in _Love Actually_, ignoring his _wwmmmphhh_ and the crumpling of the sign as they collided. "It's you!"

"Goodness!" he said, giving in and wrapping his arms around her. "Do you meet all your drivers this way? Exactly what kind of services is our employer offering these days?"

"I'm so happy to see you!" Amy gushed and tilted her head back to look into his grin. "What are you doing here? It's a Friday morning, you should be at work." She backed away slightly.

Sheldon shrugged. "I took the day off and canceled the car service. I wanted to surprise you. To welcome you home." He glanced away, his eyes searching, before he bent down and whispered "I missed you" just before giving her a brief, gentle kiss.

"Oh, Sheldon," Amy breathed out, pulling him back and kissing him longer, harder.

He tugged back, embarrassed, she knew, because they were in public. "Have you been reading more of that smut on the airplane?"

"Oh, no. I'm only going to let you read it aloud to me from now on," she purred.

Flushing pink, Sheldon said, "Come on, let's get your suitcase. Please tell me you have a suitcase to retrieve."

Amy laughed, put her free hand in his while trapping her carryon with other, and followed him to baggage claim. Happy and pleased, she chatted about her recent trip, about the weather in Chicago, about other new things she learned at the conference, answering Sheldon's questions as he drove them home. He told her about his week with Ada in more detail, about tidbits of gossip and information he had picked up about their friends.

All of the weariness of the recent week melted away by the time they made it home, and her heart lifted that way it always did at the sight of their abode. Here, where her heart resided. She had no sooner stopped moving than Belle wound her herself in and around her legs, purring loudly. Amy reached down and ran her hand along the cat's silky fur, cooing, "Well, hello, cutie. I'm happy to see you, too!"

Once Belle left her to go curl up somewhere, Amy wondered over to the corner of the dining table, where Sheldon had left the mail carefully stacked for her inspection.

"I presume we're still going over to Leonard and Penny's tonight?" she asked, picking up the first catalog.

"Do you not want to?" Sheldon asked, coming to stand beside her.

Amy shrugged. "No, it's fine. There's time for a nap first. And a hot bath. That's really what I want. Besides, Ada would be disappointed if we didn't go."

"Beyond disappointed," Sheldon said.

Then she felt him brushing her hair away from her neck and a soft kiss landed there. "I missed you."

"So you said," Amy said with a small smile, her eyes leaving the catalogue page. She turned around to look at him. "I missed you, too."

She reached up to cradle his face in his hands. As much as she enjoyed their FaceTime chats, nothing was a good as seeing him and touching him in person. Pulling him down, she touched her lips to his and enjoyed the feel of them for a moment before she opened her lips. He understood her cue and wrapped his arms about her as he met her tongue, gently at first and then urgently. They broke away with a pant, and Sheldon rested his head against hers.

"I missed that, too. All the reading in the world isn't as good as that," Amy said. She had thoroughly enjoyed Sheldon's recitation of that silly M-rated fanfiction to her the other night. She wasn't quit sure how he kept it together, his voice so soothing and strong and, yes, sensual even as she had turned the iPad camera off and pleasured herself to the sound of his voice. Although she hadn't muted her end of the conversation, there had only been the pause in his reading while she climaxed to give away that he'd heard her. She assumed he'd waited for his own pleasure until the call was over. "How about we take that nap together now?"

"Mmmmm," he said. "There's something I want to tell you first."

"Okay."

"I want you to know that I've given a lot of thought to Sherlock Holmes and Watson since Book Club -"

"Sherlock Holmes and Watson?" Amy raised her eyebrows in surprise, pulling away slightly.

"I want you to know that, although it is has not been or does not constitute my plan even at this time, I would be honored to be Watson to your Sherlock. Your genius astounds me, Amy. It always has. It's what I loved first, you know, that beautiful mind of yours." He looked down and shrugged. "I could not be more proud and happy for you right now. I am content to live in your shadow, and I apologize if it did not sound that way at Book Club."

"Sheldon, Sheldon," Amy murmured, picking his chin back up with her fingertips. "I don't want you to live in my shadow. I only want you to burn in the passionate fire of my love."

He looked at her a minute, blinking calmly and then he nodded. "I intend to continue to strive for my own break-through discovery."

"I'd be very concerned if you didn't. After all, Watson is the one who became famous for his writings."

He smiled then, and Amy pulled him in for a hug. "Did you take the day off of work just to tell me that?"

"That's not all. I may have thought about burning in the passionate fire of your love. Which, it seems you've forgotten about my memory, little lady." She loved listening the way his voice rumbled through his chest. "I seem to remember some burning in the passionate fire of love in the library at Netherfield at midnight in a certain story."

Amy chuckled into his chest. "Okay, you caught me. It _is_ an awfully cheesy line, isn't it?"

"Yes," Sheldon said. Then he leaned down even closer, and blew hot breath into her ear, a sure way to make her skin tingle. "It was perhaps the worst line in anything we have ever read," he whispered.

She managed to hiccup a little chuckle just before his lips moved to find hers, and she met them eagerly, hungrily, in the way she had been aching to kiss him ever since that night in the hotel room. Her hands went around his neck, pulling him closer, burying themselves in his dark hair. One by one, his fingers had worked their magic on the buttons of her cardigan, and now his palms slid up and over her bosom to her shoulders to push the sweater down her arms.

Pulling back, Amy said, "The bedroom?"

"Why?" Sheldon murmured. "There are book shelves right here. And a table. Alas! no maps or globe."

Giggling as his lips captured her neck, Amy said, "Are you attempting to recreate a certain fanfiction? I'm not sure I have the stamina for that."

"And you're not a nervous but eager virgin named Elizabeth, either," Sheldon said, unbuttoning her blouse now, even as her cardigan remained hanging open. "And I fear I don't have the sardonic wit of Mr. Darcy, although I'm better looking. I suggest -" he kissed her gently "- a variation. And I'm not just talking about reality or the laws of physics as applied to the act of lovemaking."

"Oh, a variation?" Amy purred, snaking her hands under his tee shirts. "What did you have in mind?"

"First of all, please tell me this bra unhooks in the front."

Amy reached up and unclasped the front of her bra with a chuckle, just as Sheldon grunted his approval into another kiss. When his thumbs made contact with her nipples, she moaned into his mouth as her back arched. They circled as his palms cupped her breasts, sending wave after wave of strong arousal though her.

"Amy," Sheldon finally said, breaking the kiss. He moved his hands so that they were on her sides and lifted her slightly. "Sit on the table."

"Okay, but no split bamboo for me today. My hip is little sore -"

He pulled away. "Are you injured? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." She shook her head and put her hand on his chest. "I just got stiff on airplane. You know, sitting too long in one position, those seats are so uncomfortable and it was freezing. That's it, I promise. It already feels almost normal being up walking around."

Sheldon's eyes searched hers. "If you're sure, shall we continue?"

She could not comply fast enough. Already Sheldon's hands were smoothing up her knees, her thighs, lifting her skirt as they treaded up her body, finding her underwear. Preparing to lift her bottom so he could slide them, Sheldon ran the back of his hand between her legs instead. She shivered in anticipation as her legs parted wider on instinct and reached for his belt buckle. Quickly, she loosened his belt and unzipped his pants. Sheldon let go of her just long enough to push everything to the floor, kicking off his shoes in the process.

"Amy." He whispered it again, pushing her back carefully, until he was leaning over, first kissing her lips and then moving his lips slowly down her neck, along the exposed section of collarbone, and then capturing one of her breasts in his mouth. Amy gasped. Oh, yes, she'd missed this.

As he switched to the other breast, Sheldon finally reached up to her skirt to pull down her panties, letting them fall down around her ankles, and she wiggled one foot until she was able to drop them on the floor. He shifted closer, rising up off of her to pull her hips closer and then she welcomed him with a deep moan. "Oh, Sheldon."

He leaned down again, kissing her softly, even as he found a rhythm and whispered, "You have no idea how hard it's been waiting for this."

"Pun intended?"

"I don't even know." His lips smacked into her again in a frenzy as he increased the pace. Amy met him with just has much eagerness, tasting, enjoying the delights of Sheldon giving to her in so many different ways, one of his palms even holding her breast in its gentle grasp.

"Amy. Oh, Amy," he moaned as he he pulled away, and Amy looked at him carefully, his eyes shutting. "Wait." Everything stopped. "I'm sorry -"

"Shhh, Sheldon, shhh," she soothed, running her palm down his face. "It's good. Let yourself go." She wanted him to know that his body and his pleasure really were enough for her. It was now clear from his pace that he'd denied himself any release until this moment, which she did not entirely understand but knew was an act of love for him. So great was his love and desire and need, that he'd even left his tee shirts on, though normally he hated being half-dressed.

Shaking his head, Sheldon leaned back, one hand finding it's way between them, making contact, causing her back to arch. Then he started again, thrusting with his hips at the same rapid pace he touched her, kneading her gratification into a tight little knot.

"Oh, Amy, nooooo," he groaned, he lip curling and his head going back just before he slumped forward slightly, his hand falling way from her. He panted above. "I'm so sorry."

Close enough she could touch him now, Amy pulled him down into a hug. "Please don't be. This is enough for me, it really is."

"No," he shook her arms off as he leaned back again. "You know I can't leave it like this."

She could have argued, but she wouldn't. And not for selfish reasons, but because she knew Sheldon's pleasure was so closely tied to her own. He would not be fully satisfied until she was. Everything started again, even the thrusts. She wasn't sure how long he'd be able to maintain it, but maybe the friction alone would be enough for him. She put her head back and gave into Sheldon pleasuring her, even better than all that she'd imagined that night in the hotel room. That wasn't a lie she told him: she really did always imagine him when she read those stories, not anyone else.

Then, at last, she felt it come, the giant burst of pleasure, every time even better than she remembered, and she cried out all of her joy, only stopping when Sheldon collapsed against her. Amy wrapped her arms around him and kissed his glistening forehead. "Thank you."

"That's what I missed most," he panted. "The sound of your climax. In person."

"I love you."

He lifted his head and smiled down at her. "I love you, too. Now, I believe something was said about a hot shower and nap?"

Amy nodded. She didn't even correct him that it was a bath, not a shower, because she knew that this was his subtle method of getting his own way. It didn't matter. A hot shower followed by a nap with Sheldon was worth giving up a bath for.

Suddenly, a memory came to her and she burst out laughing, her head rolling against the wooden surface.

"What?"

"It occurs to me that we just literally put coitus on the table," she said, grinning up at him.

First his eyebrows dipped and then they went up. "It seems we did." Then they dipped again. "What were we thinking? We have to eat there! Where's the bleach?! I have to sanitize it!"

In one swift move, he ran away from her in his stocking feet, his tee shirt hems not covering his adorable little bottom. Amy sat up, her open bra and blouse fluttering around her and laughed some more at the sight of him fleeing half-naked across the room.

"At least put some pants on before you use that caustic chemical so close to your naughty bits!" she yelled after him.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_

_**Speaking of reviews, I did receive emails with the guest reviews on the last chapter of **_**Book Club.**_** However, several of them never appeared on the review page for that story, for reasons I cannot explain. I suspect a problem with this website. Please know your kind thoughts weren't lost; instead, they were very much appreciated.**_


	53. Boobs

**Boobs (_takes place after_ Eleanor &amp; Park)**

* * *

_"I just didn't know if something happened between you and Jacob . . . or if you were hoping that something would happen -"_

_"Mom!" Ada yelled, turning up her nose._

_"Sweetheart, you're a lovely young lady and he's a young man and it's very normal if your hormones are leading to you have sexual -"_

_"Gross!" Ada pushed Amy's hand off her knee. "No, no, no. It's Jacob! Never in a million years!"_

_"Ada -"_

_"You'll never understand me!" Ada wailed and flopped over on her pillow again. "Just go away."_

_"I'm trying -"_

_"Go away, you're just making everything worse!"_

* * *

She hated them. She really did. Why, oh why, she wondered, not for the first time, couldn't she be switched at birth or adopted or anything else? But no, she was stuck with the most embarrassing, weirdest, most horrible parents in the whole school. And she couldn't even deny they were hers, because she was cursed to look so much like her father.

And look what else this curse brought her: no boobs, no hips, freakishly tall. She was probably never going to get her period, either! If she had to be stuck with them, why couldn't she have at least got Mom's boobs? Mom had boobs. And hips. Granted, Ada would not have wanted to be overweight, but some cleavage would have been nice.

Ugh, Mom! Couldn't she let something rest for once? It's not as though Ada was a child, needing explanations for everything. Sometimes she just wanted to be alone and cry, even if there wasn't a logical reason for why the news of Lucy's new bras made her so upset. But, no, Mom wanted to discuss everything, to find the reason and the meaning, to make it all a lesson or something stupid. Like that dumb Book Club.

It's not like Dad was much better. A man in his fifties who still showed up at school events in a train tee shirt? And that wasn't even as embarrassing as the way he acted. Yeah, Dad, we get it: you're the smartest man in the room. This is all tedious and beneath you.

God, they were such nerds!

Ada allowed herself a tiny smile. She should ask Dad about the bras. Better yet, why she didn't have her period. He would faint!

Why couldn't Raj and Stuart be her dads? They were cooler, at least, even if they were getting frayed around the edges lately. But comfortably frayed, like old house slippers. Not Jacob's parents; she didn't understand how Jacob had withstood all that yelling for years. And then Howard and Bernadette had divorced and then it was all weird because they still both came on Friday nights and seemed to get along and then they went home together . . . Ugh. No wonder Jacob was so shy and backwards. Aunt Penny and Uncle Leonard would be cool. Penny was beautiful. And sort of famous. And rich. Plus, they didn't hover.

That was it: her parents were always hovering. Not physically - thank God! - but mentally. They expected so much. Once or twice, Ada had been tempted to purposely put all the wrong answers on a test just to see their faces when she failed. But, then, she just couldn't do it. She was the smartest girl in the room, in her grade, heck, in school. She just couldn't do it. It was beneath her.

Why couldn't her parents be more like Grandmother Fowler? She was perfect. So calm, so cool, so detached. Nothing was worthy of a panic at her house. No hovering. Just, if warranted, "Good work, Ada." And her clothes! She dressed like an adult, not an overgrown child. Or an old lady. She had a sense of style. Impeccable taste. It was so nice at her house. Okay, yes, her parents would let her do whatever she wanted at home, read in her room or draw or whatever, but she always felt like they were watching her out of the corners of their eyes. But not Grandmother Fowler. She would truly ignore Ada. It was . . . freeing. Sometimes she actually looked surprised when Ada entered a room. Not like she was waiting with bated breath for just another sight of Ada, like Ada was some treasure or vision or something. She even liked calling her Grandmother, like it was due her station or something. Regal. That was it. Why couldn't Ada be regal like Grandmother?

Oh, right, because her parents were such nerds. She was cursed to be a giant boobless nerd, too.

Ada raised her head off her pillow at the sound of footsteps in the hallway. Her parent were going to bed. Then she looked at the clock and groaned with disgust. Seriously? They couldn't even wait until ten tonight? Now she'd have to wait in her bedroom until they were done. Good thing she didn't have to pee. So she wouldn't hear. Ada shivered.

She almost hadn't believed it the first time she heard it. And realized what it was. Two years ago. She had just told Jacob that she couldn't imagine her parents having sex. It was the day after Jacob had complained to her about his Mom coming over to talk to his Dad, and then they ended up upstairs.

"Gross, Jacob! They're divorced!" Ada had hissed. Why was Jacob talking to her about sex? And sex between Uncle Howard and Aunt Bernadette!

"And old! How do you think I feel!" he'd groused, fiddling with one of Fox's Lego ships in his hand, as he and Ada hid out in the corner of the playroom, as they did most Friday nights, sitting on the floor, talking. Too old and cool for the playroom, but far too cool for the dining room.

"At least my parents don't do that anymore," Ada said.

Jacob laughed at her. "Ada, you're such a baby sometimes."

"I am not a baby!" Ada protested. "I'm serious."

"I know. You're always serious. That's what makes you funny."

"I'm not being funny. Look at them! They're too weird to, you know, figure it all out."

"Well, they figured it out at least once, right?" Jacob asked.

Ada looked away. Her parents would kill her if they knew she was talking about sex with Jacob. Probably if she was talking about it in general. They knew she knew all about it - ugh, Mom, again, so serious about it - but that didn't mean she could talk about it. That's what she liked best about Jacob, though: they could talk about anything. She was never embarrassed with him. Yeah, he was one of the biggest nerds in their class (president of the chess club! like he was trying to be bullied!), and sometimes the other girls teased her about talking to him in the hallways, but Ada channeled her best Grandmother Fowler look of disdain and they usually backed down. Sometimes being tall was useful, too.

\- Ugh, Mom! Why did she have to say those things about Jacob and . . . hormones! Honestly, Jacob?! How disgusting. She would never, never, ever think of him that way. Just the idea make her shiver. -

Oh, yes, that night. So, later, she couldn't believe it when she's gotten up to go to the bathroom, after staying up late reading, and she heard strange sounds from behind their closed bedroom door. She stood in the hallway, breathing heavy, her palm pressed to her flat chest, her ears red and straining. Mortified and scandalized, she couldn't make herself move. It was all muffled, behind their door, and she was certain she'd never heard anything when her door was closed, but there was no denying what was happening in their room. And then she heard two things in rapid succession: "Sheldon!" followed by a . . . growl? . . . something deep and rumbling from Dad. That did it, she turned and ran back to her room, only remembering not to slam the door at the last second, so the sound wouldn't give her away. Oh my God! Her parents just had sex!

As bad as that was - so bad she tossed and turned most of the night - even worse was the wink her mother gave Dad the next morning, when she passed him his glass of milk. Ada wanted the dining table to open up and swallow her. Is that what the wink meant? It didn't happen every morning, and she's never really thought about the pattern before, but what if . . . Oh God! What if they've had sex on the dining table? Right were she was eating? That happened in movies in she wasn't supposed to watch, right? Ada snatched back from the edge and her plate of French toast.

"Ada, are you okay?" Mom had asked.

"Um, yeah. Just not hungry, I guess," she mumbled.

Dad gave her a worried look over the top of his glasses. Ada took a breath. No, of course they never had sex on the dining table. Or the sofa. Or in the shower. Or on the floor. Or outside the bedroom. Probably never with the lights on. It was a ridiculous thought. Dad wouldn't allow it. They'd have to get rid of the table. And the sofa. And the shower. And the flooring.

Not accustomed to being stupid or wrong or obtuse, Ada quickly realized how blind she'd been. The winking was the first clue. Then she started to notice the looks, the smiles, the little touches. Had they been there all along? Her parents were animals! It was disturbing, really, how they looked at each other sometimes.

"Jacob," she'd whispered a couple of months later on a Friday night, unable to hold the shame in, "my parents had sex!"

"So?"

"So? It's my parents! And not to make me, but, like, this week. And the week before. Jacob," she leaned in closer, cupping his ear with her hand, "they do it every week, I think. I think they like it!"

He'd pulled away, wiped his ear, and laughed. Finally, he'd said, "I know."

"What?" Ada looked around the playroom, wondering how he knew about her sex-crazed parents, if everyone knew, even little Fawn.

"Well, it sounds awesome doesn't it? I mean like when you - never mind." He got up and left the playroom, going to join the adults in the dining room.

Ada's eyebrows went up. Jacob had never not told her something before. When you do what? What was it that Jacob knew about doing that she didn't? She sat on the floor of the playroom, suddenly feeling just like the baby Jacob always teased her that she was.

Now, two years later, Ada knew exactly what Jacob was referencing. Ugh, boys were so disgusting. If she decided to try that - If! - that would different, right? Girls weren't disgusting. It wouldn't be that messy. It would just be . . . an experiment. Ada shook her head and got up off the bed, changing into her pajamas, grateful for the heavy doors in their home. She was suddenly very tired. Maybe it was all that crying.

Which only reminded her she'd never have boobs. Only nerdy sex-manic parents. She sighed deeply at the unfairness of her life, turned off her light, and imagined going to live with Grandmother Fowler.

* * *

She felt it as soon as she woke up. Something different. She shifted in bed to look at the clock. 6:24. A little early. But what was this vague ache? She put her hand on her stomach, expecting to find Belle's warm form pressed up against her. But, no, Belle was behind her knees. Was she getting sick? No, she couldn't. She had that history report to start on and some Japanese to practice and she had an idea for a drawing and she and Sophie were going to see a movie later.

Getting up, she shuffled to the bathroom as Belle ran off toward hers, too. Maybe she just really had to pee. After all, she'd slept longer last night and hadn't gone before bed. That would explain the heavy feeling down low.

Oh! she finished sitting down on the toilet with thump. Oh! Her heart was pounding. That was . . . it had to be . . . oh.

Ada took a couple of deep breaths. This was good, right? She was thirteen, this was normal. Mom - ugh! another serious conversation - had prepared her for this. Not that she needed Mom's lesson, really; all her classmates were two years older. Periods were discussed almost as much as trigonometry in the girls bathroom. Squirming, Ada managed to open the cabinet door next to her. Plenty of supplies. Ugh, Mom. Couldn't she be unprepared or stymied just once?

Looking at the tampon box, Ada's lips curled. Could she just stick it up there - nope. Not today. She threw the box back into the cabinet. That left just one option. Grabbing what she needed, she washed her hands and headed back to her bedroom to change.

The door across the hall opened just after she shut her own. She looked over at the clock. 6:35. Dad. She heard him pause in the hallway. _Go away, go away, _she silently prayed. Finally she heard him walk on, to get cereal and watch _Star Trek: Legacy _without her.

Tiptoeing across the hall, Ada's knocked softly on her parents' bedroom door. "Mom?"

She heard shuffling and a murmured, "Ada?"

Ada opened the door slowly, which was a good thing, because Mom was sitting in bed, hurriedly wrapping a robe around herself. Oh gross, she was naked. Eww, they'd slept that way, hadn't they?

"Ada, sweetheart, what's wrong?" Mom started to get out of bed. For once, Ada had managed to surprise her. That, at least, was satisfying. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been in here. It had aways been a mystical, magical room to her. Sometimes, when she little, Mom would let her come in when she was getting dressed for Date Night - They were so weird! They had been married forever, what did they need dates for? - and Ada would brush her tiny hands along the clothes hanging in the closet and let Mom put clear but shiny lip gloss on her lips.

"No, stay, I'll come there," Ada shut the door behind her. She crawled across their big bed, an entirely new experience and settled on her knees next to her mother. "I just got my period."

"Oh, sweetheart." Mom pulled her into a hug. Ada had expected that, dreaded it, really, though it was probably best to get it over with. Now would come the speech: some biological facts, how special it was, gift to humanity, now a woman, body preparing for babies, the word "special" about ten more times, blah blah blah.

What she had not expected was how good her mother's arms felt. "Oh, Mom," it escaped in a sob.

Mom squeezed her tighter, rubbing her back, and Ada let herself cry. Why was she crying so much - oh.

"Are you cramping?" Mom whispered.

Ada shook her head into her hair. She didn't think so. Heavy and full and now like she was wearing a diaper, but not cramping, she thought. The bedroom door creaked open and Ada buried her face further, unable to turn around. God, Dad. Couldn't he leave them alone just for once? Why did he have to follow them every where like a lost puppy?

But she felt Mom's arm, swinging, waving him away, and the door shut again. Ada smiled a bit, her tears drying. Dad was so obvious: confused by why his wife and daughter would want to be alone without him, frightened by the sight of two hugging and crying females, but not able to ignore a command from Mom.

Mom pushed her away slightly, and pushed her hair out of her face. Mom. Her hair was really getting gray now (she refused to dye it, how embarrassing!) and her eyes had little lines around them. But her eyes were still soft. "Did you find everything you needed? If there's blood on your pajamas, too, don't forget to put them to soak."

Rolling her eyes, Ada nodded. Here we go. The speech.

"Do you want to talk about it? Do you have any questions?" Mom asked.

Ada looked at her carefully, trying to gage what she meant. "Don't you want to talk doubt it?"

Smiling and shrugging, Mom said, "I think you're old enough now and intelligent enough that you don't need one of my silly little speeches. You understand the implications. You don't like it when I make a fuss over you."

A new sob welled up, that her mother really did understand her after all, and Ada pulled her back in. "Oh, Mom, I love you."

"I love you, too, sweetheart," Mom whispered. The sat on the bed, hugging, Ada crying, even Mom sniffling a bit although Ada couldn't understand what she had to be all worked up about.

Then Ada thought of something. "Mom?" She pulled away quickly in a panic. "Does this mean it's done? Puberty? Does this mean I'll never get any boobs?"

* * *

God, he was so . . . inevitable. Mom was never shocked and Dad was too easy to shock. What a pair.

Ada could feel his eyes on her, the way he slowly rotated his neck to watch her as she went to the kitchen to get her cereal. She could practically hear his mind churning, the questions forming and lingering: _Why did she go to our bedroom? Why was she hugging Amy? Why was she in our bed? Was she crying? Why was she crying? Will she tell me? Will I have to ask Amy? Will Amy tell me? Yes, of course she will._ That last question popped away, of course. Ada was under no illusions that her father would not know of, and be distressed by, her new condition by the end of the day. She sighed as she poured the milk. Well, at least he could be counted on to be too embarrassed to talk to her about it.

Without words, she went to sit by him on the sofa, holding her bowl of cereal, crossing her legs. "This isn't _Star Trek_," she finally said.

"Computer, stop playback. Play latest episode of _Star Trek: Legacy_," Dad called. As Siri complied, Dad said, "I was waiting for you."

"It's okay. I've seen it, remember? We all watch it together on Wednesdays, when it's on," Ada said. Belle came over to investigate the delicious white liquid in her bowl, and Ada waved her away.

"But you and I always watch_ Star Trek t_ogether. Every Saturday morning," Dad protested. "It's your favorite. You love Captain Spock."

Ada tilted her head in agreement. It was true that she love this particular incarnation of the famous franchise the most, primarily because of the charter of Hadiya Spock, the beautiful and confident daughter of Uhura and Mr. Spock. What Ada enjoyed most was how much like an iceberg she was: smooth and cold to the naked eye but jagged and passionate beneath the surface.

"Plus," her father continued through the opening scene, "I have devised the most challenging Counterfactual question based on this episode to ask you afterwards. It almost stumped your mother."

"Huh," Ada said, managing not to laugh. That was highly unlikely. Dad and Mom had been playing the same game of Counterfactuals for decades without a victor. The only way one of them would stump the other is if the other person were dead.

Uh, that's morbid. And sad. A wave of emotion passed over her, followed by a wave of frustration. Damn period! Was this how it was going to be?

Then Dad licked his lips. "Do you not want to watch _Star Trek _with me anymore?"

Ada turned at looked him, so predictable in his plaid pajamas and robe. (Eww, that he put on to come out to watch TV. Because he was naked in bed. With Mom. Gross.) She smiled. "I can't imagine doing anything else."

He nodded and turned back toward the screen. Ada finished her cereal, tipping the bowl up to drink the last of the milk with a loud slurp - Dad hated that and thus she made sure to always do it - and then leaned forward to set her bowl on the coffee table.

Looking at him him out of the corner of her eye, Ada could almost see the tension in the way he sat. Something unusual had happened, something out of the ordinary, something he didn't understand, and it weighed upon him. She wove her arms around his and leaned in with her head on his shoulder. "I love you, Dad."

She felt him relax slightly. "I love you, too." A pause. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Then she grinned to herself. "But I'll be better if I ever get some boobs."

As his arm jerked, Ada smiled toward the screen. God, her parents. Such nerds.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	54. The Beach

**The Beach_ (takes place during and after _What Dreams May Come_)_**

* * *

_"She's awake. And very lucid. We just had a long conversation. She'd asking for you now, though," Ada explained, and Sheldon noticed the uncharacteristic way Ada rubbed her fingernail down the side of her thumb. He tilted his head in confusion._

_"Oh." Amy scrambled up, and he watched her rush toward the bedroom. He stood himself and picked up their dirty mugs to take to the dishwasher._

_"Dad," Ada reached out and put her hands on the mugs, "I think you should go with her."_

* * *

That night, the evening they told her, the evening they'd come home to find Mom frozen at the dining table, Ada was awoken by a particularly horrid dream, already sobbing. Then there was light knock on the door and a hand starting brushing her hair. But when she looked up, it was Dad.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she sniffled.

"Vulcan hearing," he said. "And I've been listening for your cries in the middle of the night for fifteen and half years now." He licked his lips in the dark. "Would you rather have your mother? I could wake her."

_Yes. _She wanted her mother very much at that moment. But she could not ask for that, could not ask for her mother now, her mother who was more affected than she was, her mother than she knew without asking was only just asleep after many restless hours. In that insistent, Ada decided she would not complain or mop about; Mom didn't need that worry, too, and Grandmother wouldn't approve of such behavior. She would square her shoulders and she would accept this burden not just because she's didn't have the choice, but because maybe her strength would give her mother strength, too.

Lying in action, Ada shook her head at her father and sat up to curl closer to him, and she let him hold just as he had when she was a small child, his arms wrapped around her, her head tucked under his chin. Once she was there, though, Dad was enough, and Ada cried in silence with him rubbing her back.

* * *

She knew they were jealous, they had told her so with wide eyes and whispered voices. "You mean you'll have a key to both apartments? And you can come and go between them whenever you want? Think how easy it would be sneak out!"

Ada just shook her head at Sophie and Harper over lunch in the cafeteria. It wasn't like that. And not just because Grandmother was dying and she was going to give up her bedroom to hospice care and spend the nights sleeping in Uncle Raj and Stuart's guest room until . . . until the inevitable. It felt selfish to talk too much about her grandmother's cancer. Almost every one had experienced cancer or death or some other tragedy in their families; she was not alone in her class. Plus, she knew that Grandmother would not want to be the stuff of gossip and drama.

Only Jacob had understood, how packing a bag of clothes and sleeping in a bed and room that weren't really yours was not something to enjoy. Even if you loved the persons whose house you were going to, even if you had slept in that bed dozens of times before . . . it was the feeling of being uprooted. Plus, she could not share the couple of times her father had come in at midnight, after some particularly bad turn of Grandmother's illness, leaving one crying woman to hold another. As much as she adored her uncles, as warm as their hugs were, they wouldn't do. They weren't her father.

"I hated spending the night at Mom's," he'd said, as they sat together on Leonard and Penny's back porch on Friday night. "And it wasn't even about my mom, you know? It was about being forced into this other bed, without a choice." Nodding, Ada let him continue. Somehow, years ago, he'd found peace with his parents. "It's a lot better now, I don't have to spend the night. We can just go to lunch and a movie or something."

She wondered if he'd add the obvious, the open secret that Bernadette periodically came to spend the night at his house. But he didn't. Younger Jacob had loved to tease her about her lack of knowledge when it came to sex and relationships, older Jacob just assumed she knew everything he did. Because she did. Then he said, softly, "I'm really sorry about your grandmother, Ada."

"Thank you," Ada replied.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No." _Come over at night and keep me company._

He wouldn't even have to speak, just as they weren't now, sitting in silence after such a deep conversation. It was strange, this silence with Jacob. She didn't really understand it, but she always appreciated it later. She supposed it was the mark of true friendship.

Now, four weeks into the half-existence, Ada found herself at home, reading on the sofa with Belle, wishing this was not her new normal. She still came home first and did her homework as before, but Mom usually left after a few words to spend the evening with Grandmother. Ada would help Dad make dinner, and they'd try to keep conversation going while Mom sat at the table and picked at her plate. Even things had changed with Belle. Now that And was sleeping downstairs at Raj and Stuart's, this was only time for cuddles on the couch with her cat before she left again. Her feline friend was forced out of her old bedroom and had taken up in her parents' bed. Ada wondered if she'd ever get her back.

"Ada?"

"Hmmm?" She looked up, startled, at Dad's approach.

"May I ask a favor of you?"

"Sure."

"Would you mind sitting awhile with your grandmother? I want to get your mother out of that room. I'm - I'm worried about her." He looked away at the end, which Ada knew belied both his embarrassment at sharing his emotions with her and how very worried about Mom he was.

"Of course." Ada nodded and closed the cover of her iKindle. "Now or later when the night shift nurse comes?"

"Now. I don't want to wait for the nurse. I'm hoping I can get her to enjoy the sunset. Plus you know she never relaxes when they're here, either. Do you think I should reheat some dinner for her?"

Lifting Belle off her lap and standing, Ada asked, "Do you think she'd eat it this time?"

Dad sighed, and Ada heard the weight of the world in it. She leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, and she saw his eyebrows go up in surprise. It was true that Mom looked awful lately, but Dad wasn't looking that great either. It felt like an endless chain of worry in this place now: Mom worried about Grandmother, Dad worried about Mom, Ada worried about all of them, and - based on the sheer quantity of baked goods presented to her every morning for breakfast - Raj and Stuart worried about her. She said softly, "What are you going to lure her out with?"

Dad looked at her for a moment and then answered, "Book Club."

Ada smiled. God, her parents. Such nerds. "That should do it."

* * *

After her parents left, her father's plan having worked just as he hoped, Ada settled into the old rocking chair with her book. She thought about reading aloud to Grandmother as she had early in her illness, when Grandmother would listen thoughtfully and occasionally interrupt to ask Ada her thoughts on a particular passage. But now she seemed to be either asleep or not quite aware. The moments of lucidity were becoming less frequent and shorter in duration.

Losing track of time between the pages, Ada read silently, the words forming pictures in her brain, just like she was rapidly scanning the frames of a comic book. Just as she's always seen her books. Until she heard a noise from the bed and looked up.

"Grandmother?" she asked, quickly getting out of the chair to lean over the hospital bed.

"Amy?" Grandmother struggled to say.

"No, it's me. Ada," she said, taking the boney hand.

"Ada."

"Yes. Would you like some water? Or some Ensure? Are you in pain?"

"You sound just like your mother."

Biting off the instinct to frown, because she was always being told she sounded like Mom or looked like Dad, Ada said, "I know. People tell me that all the time."

The frail woman turned her head slightly and Ada smiled down at her. Should she ask again about the water? Had she not heard or had she already forgotten it had been asked?

"Your hair." In reflex, Ada's free hand went up to touch the locks that had fallen forward over her shoulder. "I had hair like that once."

Smiling, Ada said, "I know. Remember when I used to come to your house and you'd show me all those old pictures?"

"Don't ever cut it."

"But I already did. Remember, the summer I was thirteen? I cut it all off because I wanted to look like Audrey Hepburn in _Roman Holiday_ and _Sabrina_. Mom begged me not to and we fought about it, and then I hated it right away. It only made me look like a boy, even more like Dad."

Grandmother managed a small smile. "You drove home in stormy silence because neither of you wanted to give the other the safistrction of seeing you cry, and then you both slammed your bedroom doors and sobbed about your lost hair."

Ada's eyebrows went up. "We did?"

A minuscule nod. "Yes. Maybe that was a secret. I can't remember now. Anyway, you both told me the same story." Something that almost sounded like a chuckle. "I imagine your poor father standing in the hallway, looking confused."

Ada nodded. "Dad's always lost when Mom and I act emotional."

Although weak, there was squeeze of Ada's hand. "You're very fortunate to have him. He is a wonderful father. Never forget that." Her voice was sounding very strong tonight, that statement almost came out sternly.

Chastised, Ada looked down. "I know." She looked up. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson about my hair. I'll never get it cut again. It's a good thing it grows so fast."

"And your mother," Grandmother went on, "you're very lucky to have her, too. She's a far better mother than I ever was."

"I'm sure that's not true," Ada protested. How could that be? Grandmother was one of her absolute favorite people, and there were still the rare instances she dreamed about having been raised in her house.

Grandmother blinked a couple of times. "Someday, I'll sure you'll understand more than you do now." She took a deep, rattling breath. "Tell me about college next year. I don't think you have."

That wasn't true. Ada had rushed to tell her that she's received early acceptance to Harvard. And Yale. And Stanford. And at least a dozen other places. But apparently those were conversations lost in the fog of illness. "I want to go to Harvard, but Mom and Dad aren't too keen on the idea. They want me to go to Stanford."

"What's at Harvard, other than the ocean on the other side of the country?"

Ada swallowed. "That's not the only reason. My friends Sophie and Harper both applied."

Another chuckle. "You forgot your mother went to Harvard, too. I have been through this before."

"You would think she would remember that," Ada pouted.

"I think her memory is your obstacle, dear." There was a pause, Ada uncertain how to respond to that, completely unaware until that moment that maybe her Mom had been trying to escape something, too. Not that Ada could explain why she wanted to be so far away. "I don't know why I fought it," Grandmother said suddenly, and Ada glanced back at her. "It's important, I think, for a young woman to find her own path in the world."

"Exactly!"

"Ada dear, I know your path is destined for greatness. I can see it, very clearly."

Sucking in her breath, Ada leaned closer to her grandmother. "What? How?"

"I don't know." A little shake of the head. "But I see it the same way I know your father was not just a once a year obligation your mother made to me. I heard it in her voice from the very beginning."

Before Ada could ask what that meant, before Ada could determine if her grandmother's lucidity was slipping away again, she said, firmer, "Please go get your mother, dear. I feel I need to speak to her."

"Right now? It's just that she and Dad -"

"Yes, right now. Before it's too late." Grandmother shut her eyes, but Ada snapped upright at what she had seen just before they closed. It was such an odd look.

"Okay." She let go of her hand and turned to go.

"Ada, dear?" She stopped and turned, her hand on the doorknob. "I love you. You have been one of the greatest joys of my life."

"Me, too," Ada whispered and then ran back to the bed to kiss her grandmother on her forehead.

* * *

"Mother? Are you hungry? Are you in pain? Do you need anything?" Amy asked, entering the bedroom. She hated this, the hospital bed and the sick room smell in her daughter's bedroom. Ada, though, had not seem bothered. Not that Ada wasn't stressed by these changes; Amy could see that she was, but she'd never once complained in her presence. Sometimes, when Amy was home with the hospice nurses and her dying mother while Sheldon was at work and Ada was school, Amy thought she just might dissolve right there on the floor from the pain and the stress and the wait. But then she remembered how strong Ada was being, and she stood up a little straighter and fought off the blackness of absolute grief for another day.

"No, dear." Cynthia lifted her hand slightly and Amy came close, taking it. "I just had a nice conversation with Ada."

"She said you did," Amy said.

"You've done a beautiful job with her, you know," Cynthia said. "I think she's going to be something important."

"Have you been talking to Sheldon?" Amy asked.

"You've done a beautiful job with him, too," Cynthia said.

Amy shook her head. "I can't take credit for that. If Sheldon has changed, it's only because he wanted to change. That's human nature. You can't change someone else."

Cynthia managed a small nod. "Amy, dear, I am not given to sentimentality. And I do not intend to start now. I've written too many obituaries in my time to believe in the healing power of death. Death comes us all, and it's never dignified. But I want to thank you."

"Thank me?" Amy asked, surprised and concerned at this conversation.

"Thank you for taking care of me here, like this. For Ada, for all the days I got to spend with her. For including me in your family celebrations, even though I know I was not always the most welcome -"

"Mother, don't -"

"Shh, let me finish. Thank you for giving me a family after all. Thank you for allowing me to find peace. Thank you for forgiving me. But, most of all, thank you for teaching me there is no room for regrets." Cynthia sank back into the pillows, as much as her emanated form could sink, her breath coming shallow from the effort of her little speech.

"You shouldn't talk so much, Mother. You're out of practice. And you're ill and tired. But," Amy squeezed her boney hand softly, "you have nothing to thank me for. It was always the right thing to do. And for your regrets . . . I don't know what to say."

"Come closer." Amy leaned over closer to her mothers face, her voice losing its strength. "For too long, I regretted my actions. I regretted . . . your father. My own stupidity. I regretted that I had to write for a newspaper, not the next great American novel. I regretted you." Amy sucked in her breath. "I am not saying this to hurt you, I am just telling you the truth. The truth you already know." Amy nodded. "But I realized several years ago that without those actions I wouldn't have Ada. Or you. I sent all my bitterness away, and I hope you were able to see that. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. So, no, I don't regret a single thing."

"Oh, Mother, please don't talk this way." Amy felt tears pooling in her eyes and she knew they would fall. She did not want her Mother to see her cry. Not because she was too proud or too embarrassed, but because this conversation felt very final and she did not want to upset her mother into thinking it was the end.

"Sheldon . . ." Cynthia said, but she had become so weak it can out more as a breath.

"What about him?" Amy asked, but then she felt hands on her shoulders, and she stood up slightly to be closer to him, a reflex she didn't even realize she had. It wasn't about him, it was a greeting, he had come to join to her.

"Hello, Cynthia," Sheldon said softly.

"Thank you for my daughter," Cynthia said.

"I don't understand. As I am not responsible for the procreation of Amy nor has she ever been kidnapped, I cannot claim to -"

"You make her happy."

"Oh."

"Amy, dear."

Except Amy saw it more than heard it. Pulling away from Sheldon, Amy leaned far over her mother again. "Yes, Mother? I can barely hear you."

"You have made me so happy. I love you."

One more exhale and the nothing.

"Mother? Mother!" Amy called.

"Shhh," Sheldon pulled her upright and into a hug, tucking her face into his chest, squeezing her tight. "She's gone."

Then Ada was behind her and Sheldon widened his embrace to include her, and he was the pillar that held them upright.

* * *

Pulling his jacket even tighter around him, shivering in the wind, Sheldon turned to look at his wife. "Are you sure we need to do this today, Amy?"

She turned sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. "Please. We've discussed this. It's what she wanted."

Something in her tone made Sheldon lick his lips and look away. Although he had hated every second of his own mother's religious funeral and burial, standing morbidly there next her dead body in that open casket, dreading that each person he didn't know or only remembered from his childhood would reach out and want to hug him, he felt just as uncomfortable at this bizarre ceremony of sorts.

It had never crossed his mind what kind of memorial Cynthia might want, and he had exhaled with relief when Amy informed she had not requested any sort of traditional funeral or burial. She elected to be cremated. Although they had not always seen eye to eye, Sheldon had always admired his mother-in-law's practically.

". . . and then we're to wade out into the ocean and release her ashes."

"Excuse me?" Sheldon said, physically pulling his head back.

"She would like it at the beach where we used to go swimming, if possible. I think we should do it on a Sunday. She didn't say that, but that is when we used to always go," Amy finished.

"But it's December! And it's - it's, well, it's the ocean!"

A single, firm nod. "I know. I have already contemplated this and I do not think you need to go out into the ocean with Ada and me. Don't worry, I don't think that's violating her wishes. Her wish was primarily for us, I think."

"Is it even legal?" he sputtered. Surely the bureaucracy of the great state of California would come through for him.

"Oh, yes, you just have to get a VS-8 Burial Permit. I already downloaded the PDF application. I'm taking Monday morning off and going to the County Recorders office to get one," Amy said breezily as though she filled out forms for burial permits every day. "Apparently it's very simple."

For once, Amy's preparedness was the problem, not the solution. Sheldon had turned his daughter, across the dining table, a silent pleading in his eyes. Surely Ada would see the ridiculousness of this plan. And not just the cold and the germs; the whole idea was bordering perilously close to philosophical poppycock. The only reason Amy couldn't see it, he was certain, was because she was still in deep mourning, everything so fresh and painful in her mind and heart, still finding her footing and regaining her strength after her mother's long illness.

"Dad, it was her final request. We have to honor it," Ada said with finality.

Biting off another grumble, the need to point out that in fact her final request was for Amy to come closer to the bed, Sheldon looked down at his plate. It was just like Cynthia, wasn't it, to make him uncomfortable even now?

That's how he came to find himself that Sunday morning driving out to the beach with a biodegradable box of ashes setting in the backseat next to his daughter. He had done hundreds of things in his life he never imagined doing, especially once Ada came along, but this almost felt surreal.

He helped his wife and his daughter spread out the blanket and unpack the bag. The wind was biting in the winter chill and the beach was deserted this morning. Perhaps that, at least, was a good thing. No one else was around to witness this bizarre, and no doubt sappy, ceremony that his normally rational ladies were engaging in.

"But it's so cold today. We should do this in the afternoon, a warmer afternoon," he tried one last time, turning to Ada this time. Surely he could convince her. She loved to swim just as much as Amy, but the couple of times Amy had taken her to beach she had not enjoyed it as much as Amy had hoped; instead, she preferred the cleaner heated environment of the pool.

"It's fifty-five. Think of all those people who do the polar bear plunge in Canada on New Year's Day. It's nothing compared to that. Besides, we want to be alone," Ada said, crossing her arms and pulling her sweatshirt off. Then she reached forward and put a hand on his forearm. "Dad, please. Don't ruin it."

Sheldon frowned. He wasn't trying to ruin anything. He was trying to talk sense into his family. But if Ada thought he was ruining it, that most likely meant Amy would before long, too, and the last thing he wanted to do was block their closure. "I'll be here with the towels and blankets. And then you're both going immediately home to take hot showers and I'll make you huge mugs of hot cocoa."

"Okay, here we go," Amy said, now that both she and Ada were stripped down to the swimsuits they wore under their clothes.

"Wait!" Sheldon remembered. "You said wade. You just have to get your feet wet!"

"Thank you for the technicalities, but I want to go out far enough the wind will carry the ashes away from the beach. It's very important to be downwind; it's why I've been studying the weather so closely." Amy shook her head. "We'll be fine, I promise."

Then they were off, Amy gripping the box - how morbid and unseemly, Sheldon thought one more time - holding Ada's hand as they ran together into the surf. He was surprised they were laughing, but their laughter was quickly replaced by shouts of surprise and what he assumed was pain as they plunged in, water splashing around their knees, their waists, their chests.

"It's freezing!" he heard Ada yell. Well, of course it was. He had repeatedly told them that it would be.

They went out further, Ada reaching out to take the box from Amy, her longer legs allowing her to stay upright longer. They stopped and he waited for the release of the ashes on the wind so that the whole business could be completed, but it didn't come. What was taking so long? It seemed that perhaps, they were talking quietly, and then he saw Amy reach up to touch Ada's face, as though she were brushing something away. He sat down on the blanket with a thump, swallowing hard. Suddenly, he felt excluded and not in the same way he had before, not in the sense of being superior and smug in his scientific knowledge. Why did it have to be this way?

The sound of car pulling up surprised him, and Sheldon twisted to see who it was, hoping it wasn't someone with a dog. No, just a man, walking toward him. Should he ask him to leave as Ada said they choose a cool, windy morning to be alone? Sheldon put his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and raised his eyebrows in surprise when he recognized the short stature, the unusual bouncy gait. Jacob.

"Hi, Sheldon," Jacob said as he approached. "Did I miss it?"

"The ill-conceived run into the freezing winter ocean or the release of inert dry calcium phosphates?"

Jacob sat down next to him. "It looks like they're just talking."

Sheldon nodded. "Yes." He glanced over at the young man at his side. He was unable to fully wrap his mind around the idea that one of Ada's friends, a child of friend, was old enough to drive and look like an adult male from across the beach parking lot. "I didn't realize that Ada had invited her friends."

"She didn't. At least, I don't think so." Jacob shrugged. "She just told me about it Friday night, and I thought she might . . ." He swallowed and turned to look sharply at Sheldon. "Is it a private family thing? Should I leave before she sees me?"

Shaking his head, Sheldon said, "No. Stay."

"Why aren't you in the water?"

"Numerous reasons. As the ambient temperature is only fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit today -"

"No, I know, it's cold and germy. But, I mean . . . never mind."

Sheldon frowned again. Why was everybody acting like he was trying to ruin something today? He was being the voice of reason in this whole situation. Even Jacob! Jacob who was normally too nervous and unsure of himself to interject his opinion in any conversation, at least in Sheldon's experience. Sometimes Ada would says something like "Jacob loves that" or "Jacob hates that" and it always surprised Sheldon, that Jacob has forcefully expressed an opinion to her about anything.

"I got a full scholarship to MIT," Jacob said suddenly.

"Congratulations," Sheldon replied. "You know you can get a degree in physics there, too. I'm going there myself in January - you've probably heard, but I came up with a new theory a few months ago and it's even more excellent than my brilliant ideas - and I could put in a good word for you in the physics department, maybe get you direct admission."

Jacob smiled. "Nah. Sorry. Thanks, though. I guess I'll do biological engineering."

"You aren't certain?"

He shook his head. "There isn't really a degree in botanical engineering. And I'm not sure botany is practical. Besides, I didn't get a full scholarship to school that offers a botany degree, anyway. Honestly, I'm not really sure what I want to do."

"I'm sorry, I don't have any insight into that. I was destined to be a physicist. Just as Ada is destined to be a mathematician."

His eyebrows up, Jacob said, "You think?"

"Of course. She selected mathematics as her preliminary major on all her applications." He paused. "She has mentioned double majoring in Japanese, if that's what you mean."

"Uh, yeah, sure . . . Hey, look!" Jacob pointed out and Sheldon followed his extended finger. A cloud of dust swirled and was picked up by the wind, thinning and dissipating away from the two figures in the water, their heads very close as they were obviously holding each other.

"I feel like we should say something," Jacob said softly.

An unexpected knot in his throat, Sheldon just nodded. He watched the cloud until it was completely gone, and then he watched Amy and Ada, not moving, so close, watching it even longer than he had. He only turned at the rustling next to him. "You're removing your shoes?"

Peeling off his socks, Jacob started rolling up his pants. "I'm just going to wade out. Maybe I should take the towels?"

"Why is everyone insistent on getting in that cold water?" Sheldon asked.

"Because it means something to her."

Sheldon watched the wind billow up Jacob's shirt as he approached the water. Her, who, exactly? Cynthia? Surely not, Jacob had only met her a couple of times. Amy? Perhaps, because she was Jacob's honorary aunt and he had spent many hours in their home as a child. Somehow, even that didn't fit.

A decision was made in a flash, and Sheldon rushed to remove his shoes before he had time to talk himself back into reason. Even the rolls on his pants weren't tight enough and it flirted across his mind that they would get wet. Regardless, he grabbed the remaining towel and ran toward the water's edge, plunging in as the cold forced all the air out of his body, ignoring the very soles of his feet crying out as the touched the soft, swishy sand, rejecting this new sensory experience, rejecting thoughts of fish feces.

He arrived just in time to hold the towel out, and Amy's broad smile warmed him to such an extent that he no longer felt the chill in his toes. "You came!" she gushed and she allowed him to wrap her up in the warm towel.

"When did you get here?" Ada asked Jacob, taking the towel from his outstretched arms.

"Just in time to see you release the ashes," he answered.

"It was perfect, wasn't it?" Amy asked, pressing close to Sheldon. He held her close, rubbing his hands along her covered arms to warm her further. For a brief moment, he thought about telling her how the wind currents had picked up each individual particle and how the jet stream would -

"It was. It's exactly what she would have wanted, I think, especially now that we're all out here together," Ada said softly, wrapped in her own towel.

Amy squeezed in tighter, and Sheldon looked down to wipe the tears he was certain would be there away. But they weren't. She was smiling, looking out at the ocean. It might have been the chill in the air, but he thought her skin looked pinker and her eyes seemed brighter. Then she whispered, "Thank you for coming out, Sheldon. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"You're welcome," he said softly, kissing the top of her head, ashamed that it hadn't really been his idea. He glanced over at Jacob, wondering if he'd give him away, but Jacob wasn't looking at him, he was talking to Ada and she smiled at something he said.

As Ada turned her face away from him, she reached out and squeezed Jacob's hand. Sheldon saw his eyebrows go up and he locked eyes with the young man for just a second before Jacob lowered his again, a deep blush spreading across his face. Surprised at his own sudden insight, Sheldon understood exactly what the expression on Jacob's face was._ Her. _It was_ her. _Instantly so many things were clearer.

The four of them stood in the ocean like that, in the chill and the wind and the sun, talking and even laughing, and it was nothing like the morose and sappy day Sheldon had thought it would be. Later, Jacob would leave and Amy and Ada would huddle with chattering teeth all the way back home. Later, Sheldon would insist on hot baths for them both. Later, for the first time in two months, Amy asked him to join her for a nap and he loved her delicately, nurturing her from the inside out.

But for the time, on a sunny but cool December Sunday morning, Cynthia gave them a happy day at the beach. And it meant something to each of them in a different way.

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_


	55. Consequences

**Consequences _(takes place after_ The Prom Goer's Interstellar Excursion)**

* * *

_Amy pulled sharply away from Sheldon. "Jacob? Ada? What's going on?"_

_Then she heard Sheldon whisper, his voice deep and rumbling, even over the swell of music as their romantic song ended, "Was that blood on her dress?"_

_"Oh God!" Tearing away from him, Amy started to run down the hallway toward Ada's room, when she heard Sheldon's long stride behind her. She stopped and put her palm up. "No! You stay out there!"_

* * *

"Ada, tell me what happened!" Amy said even as she opened her daughter's bedroom door. Gone were her usual concerns about respecting Ada's privacy, about setting a good example to never enter another's personal space without permission.

She thought Ada would be sobbing on her bed, but instead she standing the middle of her room, twisting to unzip the back of her dress. "Oh!" Amy gripped the edge of her dresser. There were spatterings of blood all down the front of it, just as Sheldon had said. Swallowing hard, fighting the vomit that was gurgling up in her esophagus, Amy said, "Who hurt you? What happened?"

"It's not mine. I'm not injured," Ada said, finally succeeding with the zipper and stepping out of the dress.

Amy shut her eyes and thanked a deity that she wasn't even sure existed. "Who's is it?" She paused, thinking about the tumult she had just seen. "Jacob's?"

"No. It's Liam's." Ada stood in her undergarments, still in her high heels, looking down at the vintage dress that she'd worked so hard to find.

"You have to tell me what happened," Amy said, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Jacob punched Liam and he got a bloody nose. It may be broken."

"What?!" Amy shook her head. "Jacob Wolowitz?" She tried to match that statement with awkward and reticent young man she knew. He may have outgrown his high-strung preschool years but it was though all that nervous energy had been directed inward, only revealed through his strange gait and his jittery hand movements. But if Sheldon was correct . . . "Did they get into an argument over you?"

"God, Mom, no! Why do you insist on talking about Jacob that way?" Ada yelled but then sat down on the edge of her bed and seemed to wilt. "It was awful," she whispered.

"Oh, sweetheart." Amy rushed to her side, sitting next to her, putting her arm about her taller daughter. "Please tell me what happened."

"We kissed."

Her eyebrows went up. "You and . . . Liam?" she ventured timidly.

Ada nodded.

"And that was a . . . bad thing?"

"I don't know why I did it. I don't like him, I never did. I guess I was just curious." Ada still wasn't looking up.

Amy smiled softly and ran her hand across Ada's updo. "That's okay. It's perfectly normal to be curious about kissing." Amy took a deep breath. "But I don't understand why Liam and Jacob got into a fight."

Ada looked over at her and Amy saw that her eyes were getting misty now. "I did it for the wrong reason. I just wanted to be the most popular girl for one night. Liam was a shoe-in for prom king, so I thought I could be prom queen. Not the just the smartest girl. I wanted to be both."

"Oh!" Amy pulled her in and held her close. It hurt so much, seeing her normally confident daughter doubting herself. These type of doubts hadn't seemed to plague Ada for a couple of years now, once the initial pre-teen and teenage growing pains passed. Instead, Amy had been so pleased that Ada had inherited Sheldon's assurance, because Amy believed self-esteem was essential for any woman. She never wanted Ada to doubt her worth in this world.

But she also wished that she didn't understand exactly what that felt like. She wished that she had not had moments in her life when she had felt exactly the same way, when hesitation and misgivings lapped at her heart. She wished that she had been able to convince Ada that being the smartest girl would pay off in the long run. But she remembered being sixteen, too.

"There's plenty of time to be the most popular girl in the room, Ada. There are so many more exciting rooms in your life than a high school gymnasium," she whispered. "I promise." She took a deep breath. "Can you tell me what else happened? Does the kiss have to do with Jacob punching Liam?"

Nodding against her, Ada pulled back. "Then he tried to do it again, and I told him not to. But then he said . . . he said I had to, that I was his date. That I had to because I was so hot." Amy clutched her chest. "Jacob and Sophie were dancing next to us, and then Jacob stepped over and told him to leave me alone." Ada shrugged. "Liam said some mean things to Jacob and then Jacob punched him."

The nausea returned again, although only a shadow of its former self. "Was it only just a kiss? Please tell me, Ada. Did this boy hurt you?"

"No. I promise." Ada shook her head. She looked up sharply. "He's not a monster, Mom, he didn't try anything when I said no. But . . . but he said those things. Oh!" - she threw her head back down into her hands - "I feel so stupid, agreeing to go with Liam. I thought he was the nice jock, you know, but I guess not. They're all the same. He just thought I could be a conquest for him."

"Sweetheart, from what you've told me you did nothing wrong. You had no way to know that Liam would act this way. Even if you had, that is no excuse for his statements. Of course, I'm not condoning Jacob's response. Violence is never the correct answer and I thought both of you knew it."

"It would have never happened if I wasn't trying to be so - so popular. I was horrible! You would have been so mad if you'd seen me. I laughed at his stupid jokes and told him I liked his car and lied that the corsage was pretty. I don't know what came over me, it was like I was possessed by one of those pretty airheads and that made him think he could control me." Ada reached up and started pulling pins out of her elaborate updo. "I should have just gone with one of the boring dweeby band guys. Obviously only a nerdy guy will ever understand me."

"Ada, stop it!" Amy pleaded, putting her hand over Ada's fists. "Listen to me. It doesn't matter if you lied about his car and your corsage or even if you really were an airhead - none of those give any man permission to threaten you, verbally or otherwise." Amy took a deep breath. "Do your father and I need to go to school with you Monday morning and help you report this to the principal?

"No!" Ada almost shouted. "I don't want Jacob to get in trouble."

"But if Liam was threatening you -"

A firm shake of the head. "I don't think so. I think it was all talk, trying to make himself sound, I don't know, stronger than he is or something. Besides, I really do think his nose is broken. That's probably enough."

"Are you sure?" Amy asked, unsure which answer she wanted.

Her daughter nodded. "And now my prom is ruined and I never got to be prom queen. I'm still just the brainy one."

"Oh, Ada. Be the brainy one! I thought you knew that was your most important gift."

"I do. But I wanted to be both, just once," Ada whispered.

Amy reached for Ada's hand. "Someday someone will love you for your brilliance and your beauty in equal measure. They will love you for your interests and your passions, and they will only serve to make you better. There were times I doubted myself, that I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and then I found your father. He made me realize that I was already the total package because he never tried to change me, he only augmented me. Please don't settle. I know you hate it when I say this, but you're only sixteen. I didn't meet your father until I was twenty-nine."

Her daughter leaned her head against Amy's shoulder. "We can't all have a Sheldon Cooper, Mom, even though you never tire of telling me how perfect he is."

"Aren't I the lucky one then?" Amy whispered. Then she added, "And I think some very lucky man will get you to be_ his _Cooper."

She heard a little chuckle and that made her smile. Then Ada said, "Mom? Will you stay and help me with my hair and then read with me in bed?"

* * *

On Monday, the hours crawled by and Sheldon found it hard to concentrate, dreading the phone call from Principal Higgins that was bound to come. He and Amy had discussed it, late into the night of the prom, after Amy said Ada had fallen asleep. They compared notes and felt confident that they had both received the complete and honest story from the two teenagers. Amy said, with obvious relief, that it was good to hear that Jacob also felt the kiss was mutual and that Ada had not been violated in any fashion, no matter how small. She expressed frustration both that Jacob had responded in violence and that Sheldon had not admonished him for it, so Sheldon did not see the advantage in telling her he was actually grateful for Jacob's defense of their daughter. Although that didn't help them understand how they were supposed to feel about the situation as a whole. Then, after Amy had finally fallen asleep, Sheldon had tossed and turned the entire night, unable to sleep himself, baffled at why he still felt wide awake despite his time-proven foolproof anti-insomnia measures.

Sunday a pallor settled over their home, as they all wondered around from one silent task to another. Sheldon texted with Howard some about the situation, but nothing was actually said aloud. Only Ada seemed to settle and calm as evening came, as though she'd made some sort of peace with the events of the night before, almost as though something had been decided. Sheldon envied her.

Finally, a half hour before Ada's school let out, Sheldon called Amy and they agreed they would leave work and go pick her up from school, even though it was Ada's habit to catch a ride home with Jacob on Mondays, neither of them having an extracurricular activity that day of the week. Then they would be present should the principal need to speak to them, which surely she would as they had not been contacted yet. It was strange that Howard hadn't been called yet, either, although, in typical Howard fashion, he wasn't as concerned.

They remained baffled when they weren't needed. Even though they believed very strongly that Ada had been an innocent bystander or even victim, she was embroiled nonetheless and parents were usually called prior to some sort hearing. Ada rolled her eyes and said they were "overreacting" when she saw them, but she didn't argue about getting in the backseat and riding silently home with them.

Once they arrived, they all went through the normal motions, including Ada opening her backpack and spreading her homework supplies on the dining table.

Amy whispered to Sheldon, "We just have to ask her. She's clearly not going to volunteer anything. Come with me."

He nodded and followed his wife as they both stopped next to Ada the table, Sheldon looking down at her over his wife's shoulder.

"Ada, your father and I want to know what happened at school today. Namely, what the . . . consequences were from the events at prom." Then Amy put her hand out and said quickly, "Not that we believe you did anything wrong or that you should suffer any consequences, but we're obviously concerned about your welfare. And Jacob's, too, of course."

"You don't need to worry. It's been taken care of," Ada replied at her coolest.

"Taken care of?" Amy asked, turning and furrowing her eyebrows in Sheldon direction. "What about Jacob? And Liam?"

"All the loose ends have been tied up." Ada looked down and calmly opened her notebook.

"I think that we deserve -" Amy started.

"Ada. You will tell your mother what happened and how all the loose end have been tied and you will tell her now," Sheldon said firmly.

Their daughter sighed quietly but turned in her chair. "Fine. Despite the fact that it was a chaperoned event, the crowd on the dance floor was such that apparently no person in a position of power actually saw what took place." Sheldon felt his eyebrows go up. That was good, right? "However, I knew that rumors would eventually reach Principal Higgins. So I went to Liam this morning and reminded him that there is a zero tolerance policy for any form of sexual harassment at our school. And that the only acceptable reason for a physical altercation was to defend oneself from unwanted sexual advances. I merely pointed out that his basketball scholarship would surely be in serious jeopardy if it became known to his college choice that he had committed an act of sexual harassment. As for his broken nose, I reminded him how embarrassing and socially damaging to him it would be for everyone to know that it was broken by me, a mere nerdy girl, while defending myself from his unwelcome advances."

As Amy gasped, Sheldon said, "But you didn't break his nose, Jacob did!"

She continued as if she hadn't heard them. "And, so, by the time he and Jacob were called into Principal Higgins office, Liam informed her that Jacob had dropped his phone and when they both bent down to retrieve it at the same time, Jacob's head accidentally hit him in the face. And despite the rumors, no one actually saw what happened. It was all mere speculation on the part of the student body."

Amy gasped even louder this time as Sheldon said, "But that's not what happened! That's not what you and Jacob both told us. I saw Jacob's hands!"

"It's a mystery. According to Liam, Jacob was so terrified at being in the principal's office that he couldn't speak, only nod."

Sheldon glanced down to notice that Amy was visibly shaking. Was she cold? "Ada Fowler Cooper," she growled, "I cannot believe you would lie like that!"

"I didn't lie." Ada protested. "I merely reminded Liam of some pertinent facts, and he came to me later in the day to tell me that he remembers a different sequence of events than I do. The human memory is not infallible, regardless of what Dad claims."

Sheldon felt his jaw go slack. What was happening here?

"I cannot believe that you would lie to your own advantage like that about something so serious." He also didn't think he'd ever heard Amy so angry. She wasn't even yelling, and he knew that was a bad sign.

"It wasn't to my advantage; you just said yourself that I didn't do anything wrong and shouldn't suffer any consequences, and I haven't. And, again, I didn't lie, I merely reminded -"

"Do not quibble over technicalities, young lady," Amy said.

"Dad says one should always quibble over the technicalities. The beauty of the universe is in the technicalities," Ada said.

Given Amy's wrath, Sheldon had the sinking feeling he should have never said that to her. Even if it was true.

"We did_ not_ raise you to bend the rules. We did _not _raise you to mock the serious crime of sexual assault or to take it lightly."

"I didn't bend the rules!" Ada stood sharply, crossing her arm to look down at her mother, and Sheldon really, really wished she hadn't. He wondered if he could back a step or two away, if that would be noticed. "And I'm _not_ mocking sexual assault. Since when did sexual harassment become sexual assault? I said harassment and you jumped to conclusions. You're the one that told me any unwanted physical action against my person, no matter how small, is an aggressive act and I shouldn't allow it to happen. So what difference does it make if someone else jumped in to protect me before I could perform my own self-defense?"

"How dare you throw my words back in my face as an insult!"

"I'm not! I'm just repeating what you always told me! You always told me there that there are no gray areas, no matter what any man tried to claim, that my body is own possession to protect and treat as I saw fit."

Amy's hands balled up into fists. Oh, Lordy. Sheldon felt his breath coming more shallow. "Even if that is the case, why would you use it to your own advantage? Self-defense is one thing, self-promotion is another."

"You're overreacting. I didn't self-promote anything. Why don't you understand I gain nothing from this outcome? Only Jacob does!"

Silence.

"You lied for Jacob? Did he put you up to this?" Amy hissed.

"No! He knew nothing about it! He still doesn't. I was going to tell him this evening, but you and Dad just couldn't wait for him to drive me home, you _just had to _come get me."

"Because we are your parents and you are minor and don't you forget it!"

Sheldon head's had snapped back and forth between the two of them. There had been many, many ugly arguments when Ada was younger, especially the year she was eleven with her braces and her snotty attitude but this . . . this wasn't a petty disagreement about clothes or chores that had blown up. The worst part is that he . . . he actually saw both sides. He couldn't easily side with Amy. Ada was being just as logical as she was.

"God, you are so demanding and clingy! I'm going to college in four months! Then you won't be able to treat me like a child!"

"You are a child. Our child! And if you keep this up, you won't be going anywhere in four months!"

"Phhhffltt, yeah right." Ada rolled her eyes. "Like you and Dad are going change your mind and decide I don't need further education."

"Get out of my sight. Now!"

"Mom -"

"I said go to your room!"

Finally Ada shifted and looked over at him, and Sheldon swallowed. "I think you'd better do what your mother told you to do."

"Ugh!" Ada threw her hands up but she left, stomping her feet the entire way until they heard her door slam.

Amy rotated in from of him, and he could finally see her thunderous face. "You could have been more supportive!"

"I was. I told her to obey you," Sheldon said.

"You didn't back me up once!"

"You seemed to be doing quite well on your own."

"I should have known you'd be on her side!"

"On her side?" Sheldon crossed his own arms. "Why is this my fault now? You're the one who wanted her to go to prom so badly!"

"You've always indulged her." Then Amy curled her face up and lowered her voice. "The beauty of the universe is in the technicalities."

Sheldon's head snapped back. Was Amy . . . mocking him? "I thought we were meant to be presenting a united front."

"That's hard to do when you cowed behind me the whole time."

"I wasn't cowing behind. It's only logical that I'd stand behind you as I'm taller than you!"

She walked away from him and went to sit on the sofa. Sheldon paused, then licked his lips, and followed her. "Amy, I -"

"I know, this isn't about us," she said, her voice resigned. "I was just venting. I'm sorry."

"I was venting, too." He sat down next to her.

"What do we do?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I don't even know if there's anything we can or should do."

"She's right, you know. I did tell her that about sexual assault. And I do believe that, even an unwanted kiss should not be allowed. So, technically, she could say that. But it feels like . . . it feels dismissive to all those woman who have been victims of far, far greater crimes." Amy sighed. "I guess I should just be grateful that the threat of an unwanted kiss is the worst that's ever happened to her."

The whole topic made Sheldon nauseous. The very idea of someone doing something to Ada - or Amy - like that. "Her motives were pure," he said suddenly to change the subject.

Amy nodded. "I know. Which only makes it worse. How do I make her realize that the end doesn't always justify the means? Especially when the end is saving her friend's scholarship to MIT?"

"I don't know," Sheldon said. He took a deep breath. "Do you want me to call the principal tomorrow and tell her the truth? I don't know if it would work, but I have several contacts at MIT from when I went out there to give all those lectures in January, so perhaps I could save Jacob's scholarship that way."

She took his hand. "No, Sheldon. We can't accuse Ada of bending the rules and then bend them ourselves."

They sat for several minutes in silence, Sheldon's mind still churning. There really seemed no way out of this situation. They had spent all day dreading the consequences, and now they were unsatisfied with the way Ada had so deftly side-stepped those consequences. It didn't help that her solution was so neat, so perfectly logical. Her arguments, even if wrong, were so clearly presented and . . . so logical. But Sheldon knew that everything was still far too delicate to bring that up.

"Logic is a cruel mistress," Amy said softly, as though she'd heard his very thoughts, dropping his hand. "I think I just want to read alone in bed tonight. Eat without me, I'm not hungry." Then she got up to walk toward the bedroom.

Sheldon, still lost and confused, didn't contradict her.

* * *

Later, after a silent evening in which both he and Ada tip-toed to the kitchen to make themselves a small meal before retreating to their private spaces once more, Sheldon finally stood from his desk and stretched. It was a little early for bed, but he thought he might brave the bedroom, to see if Amy wanted any tea or, more likely, some cocoa before bed.

But he was surprised to find the lights already turned off and Amy curled up in bed, the covers pulled up high. Being as quiet as possible, he prepared for bed and carefully slid in next to her, using only the lowest light sitting on his iKindle to guide his path. Only once he settled did he notice what sounded like a damp sniff from her side of the bed.

"Amy? Are your ill?" he whispered over her turned back.

"No," she replied, and Sheldon heard it. Not even a sob; instead, the most painful sort of soft crying that she couldn't seem to stop.

"Amy, what's wrong?" He leaned over and put his hand on her arm. "I know you're angry with Ada, but tomorrow will be calmer."

"That's not it. I can't be angry with her because I've failed. I've failed in so many things I wanted to do correctly, that I want to do better . . . And she'll be leaving soon and it's too late."

"No, you haven't failed at anything. Here, roll over." He tugged on her gently and she came, setting her damp face into the crook of his neck. "I know that Ada's calm logic can be . . . confusing to you, but it's a way for her structure her passions within her mind. It's only because she feels so strongly that she studies and finds a loophole."

"See, you've always understood her better."

"I don't think so. She's stubborn as a mule. I don't know where she gets it."

Amy hiccuped into his neck. "Are you worried about her? What if she makes a bad choice about something important while she's at Harvard?"

"I worry about her every day," he admitted. "And . . . I'm not saying this to antagonize you, but I'm not convinced it was the completely incorrect choice. Perhaps just not the best choice or the one we would have chosen."

She shifted and put her head on his chest. "I think you're right. And I don't know how to feel about that." She took a deep breath and reached up to rub her face. "At some point, I guess we just have to let her make these less-than-ideal decisions."

"So we're not going to do anything now?"

"Not tomorrow. I need to think about it."

"Okay." Sheldon reached up to run his hand through Amy's hair. He didn't know how long they laid away in silence that night, both of them thinking about it more than they cared to.

* * *

No sooner had she settled into the sofa with her bowl of cereal, than her eyebrows went up as she heard her mother approaching. Ada turned her head and looked at her father out of the corner of her eye. "Is something up? Is that why you haven't started _Star Trek_ yet?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Except his body language said he knew everything.

Ada sighed deeply. Was there going to be a speech? She really didn't want a speech. Haven't Mom said enough - and very loudly - on Monday evening? Ada had been hoping her silence on the topic of prom all week was a sign that she was going to let things be. Ada, for one, certainly wanted to put the whole event behind her as soon as possible.

"Good morning, Ada," Mom said, coming around the corner. She was dressed, even though it was early on a Saturday.

"Good morning, Mom," Ada mumbled back.

"After you've eaten breakfast, please dress in clothing you don't mind getting dirty and have a full range of motion in."

Pulling her head back and furrowing her brows, Ada asked, "Why?"

"Because we have plans today. First, we are volunteering at the women's abuse shelter, doing whatever they ask of us. Then, we are scheduled for a self-defense class at two."

"But why?"

"Besides the obvious fact that we lead privileged lives and should volunteer for those less fortunate, I think it would do us both good to be reminded of the tragedy of spousal and sexual abuse so that we will not become complacent. And the self-defense class is to teach us both how to fight as hard as we can to never become the victim of any sort of assault."

Ada frowned. There was nothing she could say in response that wouldn't sound uncaring or flippant, and Mom knew it. Her parents weren't brilliant at chess in a vacuum. Instead, she turned to her father. "Dad?"

He turned his palms up as Mom said, "The self-defense class was his idea."

There was no use complaining or grumbling or any other tactic Ada could think of to get out this. She knew her parents well enough to know that. Not to mention that her mother - darn her! - made some excellent points. Most importantly, Ada knew without being told that if she fulfilled these wishes than the whole thing would be forgotten. They didn't agree with her method of dealing with it, but they didn't disagree enough to interfere. They were, for once, letting her decide. If they were going to treat her like an adult, she should act like one.

Taking a deep breath, Ada sat up a little straighter. "Okay. It's a good idea, I think, since I'll be on campus next year."

Mom nodded and then went to the kitchen to get her own breakfast.

"Thank you," Dad leaned over and whispered. "I'll worry about you, you know." He paused. "But hopefully you've inherited your mother's right hook."

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	56. Waiting

**Waiting (_takes place after_ Jonathan Livingston Seagull)**

* * *

_"And no secrets between us, remember?" She nodded. "We'll see each other on Instabook?"_

_"Sure." Jacob shrugged._

_"And I'll be home for Christmas, of course," Ada added. "We'll see each other, in the middle of the Here and Now."_

_"I'll be waiting," Jacob said with a wave._

* * *

She values her independence. Dylan knows this. That is why he is not at the airport to pick her up. She does not expect him to be. That is why he is not at the train station to walk her the few blocks to their shared house. She does not expect him to be.

Ada opens the front door and bends down to pet the cats that came running at her return. "Cleo! Tut! Did you miss me?" she coos at their meows of joy.

"We all missed you," Dylan says from the chair where he is holding his guitar, a pencil tucked behind his ear as he writes music.

"I missed you, too," Ada says with relief. But she does not know why she is relieved. She walks over and bends down to kiss the top of his head softly.

"How was your flight?" Dylan asks.

"Fine."

"And your dad?" He looks back down at his sheet music on the stand before him.

"Fine, now, I think. Fortunately it was a only a little scare. Maybe it will stop him from eating so much Asian take-out."

"Good," he says in an absent-minded way before strumming another cord. Something about it makes the gnawing feeling in Ada's stomach grow.

The story she wrote on the plane did not make the feeling go away. She still feels the weight, the longing, the waiting. Although she thinks maybe it helped her understand it.

"Dylan?" she asks.

"Yeah?" He still doesn't look up, changing his fingering and humming to himself.

"How long was I gone?"

"What?" He looks up then. "Uh -" she sees him silently count "- four days. Four and half now. Are you okay?"

"Why did you have to count?"

"I don't know. Why did you ask? You're the math genius."

"Did you miss me?"

"I already told you I did."

"No. Did you feel my absence? Like a weight, right here?" She presses against her chest. "And did it grow wings and flutter away when I walked in the room? Did you miss me passionately?"

Dylan wrinkles his brow. "Ada, what are you talking about? Maybe you need a nap. It was probably stressful, with your dad and all."

"With my dad _and all_? My father almost died!" She hears her voice rising, and, for once, she doesn't try to control it.

"You said he was fine. You said it was only a little scare. And, like I said before you ran out of here, heart attacks are rarely fatal these days."

"Can't you put down your guitar and talk to me, just once?"

"We are talking. Or I'm talking. You're being uncharacteristically shrill."

Something about the peaceful way he says it makes the gnawing inside of Ada bite. "What's wrong with being shrill? Want's wrong with being passionate? Why can't you ever be passionate?"

"Is this about sex?" Dylan asks calmly. "We've talked about it, you just have a larger sex drive than I do. It's just the way it is."

"No! It's about us! You're always so calm, nothing ever ruffles your feathers, nothing gets you excited. Why can't you be passionate about me? About our relationship?"

"I'm confused. We've been together for three and half years, and all along I thought you liked that I was calm and steady and predictable. We get along. We respect each other's space. We've never had an argument. Until now, I guess," he shrugs.

"Do you think that's normal? If we had a fight, would you go adopt twenty-five cats because you missed me so much?"

"Are you drunk? Sometimes people drink more on airplanes than they realize," Dylan asks.

"No. Why can't you raise your voice just once? Why do you have to be so reasonable all the time?"

"You're one to talk. You're so logical and rational. You approach everything like a math equation." Still he doesn't raise his voice. "People think you're cold, you know, heartless. A calculating bitch. I've heard them say that before, especially when we started dating."

"So you defended me? You stood up for me?" Ada asks with a glimmer of hope. She is not shocked by this description of herself, she is aware that some people thought that about her.

"It was none of their business who I dated, so I didn't engage them. You know I don't like confrontation."

The glimmer is gone, as quickly as it came. "Engage them? What about engaging me?"

Finally, he puts down the guitar and stands up. "Ada, I don't understand what's happening here."

"I want passion, Dylan. I want somebody who picks me up the airport and runs after me just because he cares about me. I want somebody who, yes, makes love to me like they can't get enough of me. I want somebody who waits impatiently for me, I want somebody who is constantly surprised that I'm still with them, that I choose them, that lights up every single time I enter a room, because their heart is fluttering. I want what my parents have! Or at least someone who stands to meet me at the door after I've been gone for four and half days!" Ada yells the last sentence and it feels so good, screaming like this in her own home, even if it makes the cats run out of the room in terror at the new sound. With the scream, she feels the weight being lifted off her shoulders, the gnawing dying away.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Dylan asks. "If you are, just say so. I just told you I don't like confrontations. I don't like drama, either."

She stares at him, meeting him on his level. Now that the weight is gone, she be the calm, calculating woman he has obviously come to expect. She sounds unperturbed when she says it, because she is sure of her decision. "Yes. Do you have somewhere to go?"

Dylan nods. "I can sleep on Joe's couch for a while. Are you okay on rent?"

"Yes. My parents will help if I need them."

He turns and heads to the back porch to get some boxes from recycling before he goes to the bedroom to pack. She sits motionless on the couch, petting the cats who have returned, as she hears him shuffling. She is not worried that he will take anything of hers. She has never lost trust in him. She hears him mumble as he makes a phone call, and, not much later, Joe's old beat up car pulls up out front. She sits as Dylan carries out three boxes, and then he stops by the door with a fourth still in his hands

"Well, I guess this is good-bye," he says, turning to look at her. "I thought we had a good run. I would have been happy staying with you. No hard feelings?"

Ada gets up and walks over to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. You're not a bad man, at all, Dylan. You'll make the right woman very happy someday. I just don't think that's me."

"That's okay."

They look at each other for a moment, and a spark of regret flares within her. There really isn't anything bad about Dylan; it's just that there is nothing she remembers with excitement or . . . passion, either. She knows she will always think about him without any bitterness. They did get along well, that is true. He followed her out here from Boston, after all. Three and half years is a lot to throw away. Perhaps she has been too rash.

But, no, this ending is proof that she has not. There is no passion here at the end. She realizes, suddenly, that she doesn't love him and maybe never has. Now she can't even remember what held them together for three and half years other than habit. And even that thought doesn't make her sad, just disappointed in herself. She smiles softly, and Dylan turns and leaves. It is not true love if it ends with a whimper.

Later, she will call her mother and tell her the whole story, even all the embarrassing details that she always hid away before. She will tell her mother that she was correct all along, that Ada wished she's listened to her before, that she understands now what her mother was trying to tell her doing all those lectures: that love is passion. That she should be so lucky to find someone she loves as much as her parents love each other. But, for now, she doesn't even sob for Dylan. She just sits on the couch and lets a few tears roll silently down her cheeks, before she calls her mother. Dylan would approve.

* * *

Grandmother Fowler taught her the importance of a timely and well-composed thank you note. So, in the midst of her strange calmness about the end of her first relationship, Ada dutifully sits down and writes a thank you to Jacob for picking her up at the airport. She pauses, her fountain pen above the page, and wonders if she should thank him for that afternoon on his back porch. But then she thinks that is just what one good friend does for another, and to thank a good friend for being present is akin to thanking the air for oxygen. Instead, she writes, in the beautiful calligraphy she also learned from Grandmother Fowler, "I am thankful we have remained friends all these years, despite the distance. We'll always be in the Here and Now." It is a short note, because Grandmother Fowler also taught her all thank you notes should be concise. Too effusive a thanks is vulgar. Its value lies not in the words, but in the thought and in its quaint old-fashionedness. Ada almost forgets about it because there is so much else on her mind and because sending thank you notes is a long habit of hers.

Surprised, she receives a note in the post a week later from Jacob. It is written on a torn sheet of graft paper and his handwriting is small, cramped, awful. "I heard about your break-up. I'm sorry. Please feel free to call me if you need to talk. Otherwise I will give you your privacy." Ada is touched beyond words. True to his promise, he says nothing to her on social media about it. But, a week or so later, she wakes up unexpectedly at 4:30. She has woken up at 6:30 for as long as she can remember, and the dark stillness unsettles her in some fashion. Unable to go back to sleep, she wraps up in her robe, feeds the cats early, and makes coffee.

Not sure why she does it, she sits at her desk and begins to write a lengthy letter on the heavy cream paper she rarely uses. She writes about switching her focus of study, telling him all the details she left out that afternoon on the porch: how she told her parents, her father's initial dismay, her mother's support even in the midst of confusion, the meeting she had the day before with her advisors, some ideas she has had to further refine her theories. She doesn't write about her feelings, really, just her version of events, and she never once mentions Dylan.

A week later, there is a full sheet of graph paper. Jacob writes about his job at Caltech and how he looks out his window at the gardeners. He writes about looking for a roommate and an apartment, because he is determined not to live with his father forever. He writes a brief sentence about each of his parents, and a longer sentence about hers because he has seen them recently. He doesn't mention his feelings, but Ada can feel something forlorn in the paragraph about the Caltech gardeners.

She writes back about the start of her new studies, changes she has made to the house now that Dylan is gone, first about swimming and then about leaves turning and falling, about the Lotus Festival downtown, about quiet Sundays at the Art Museum, her Halloween costume, and meeting her parents in Texas for Thanksgiving. He writes about fall flowers, about a chess club he has joined in an effort to meet people, about quiet Sundays at the beach, his Halloween costume, and his awkward Thanksgiving with both his parents. She draws little sketches of people and places, he describes everything with self-effacing humor.

As promised, Ada goes home for Christmas, and she and Jacob meet for coffee and talk. It is as though they never left, their conversation picking up where their last letters left off. At Leonard and Penny's Christmas party, they sit on the stairs and listen to the adults talking in the living room and their younger cousins talking and pretending to be sullen and bored in Frannie's room. They are shocked when their parents start playing some old card game called Cards Against Humanity, and they pass horrified looks back and forth. When it is Ada's father's turn to choose his favorite card, they have to run away. Jacob collapses laughing in the hallway, but all Ada can manage is a shocked smile.

At Howard's New Years Eve party, Ada gets a little tipsy and so does Jacob and they dance in the kitchen, Jacob making fun of her because she can't find the rhythm. They are standing next to each other when the countdown begins, but they both turn at the last second and kiss someone else on the cheek. But their eyes meet nonetheless.

Across the miles, across the different climates, across the time zones, the letters fly as fast as the postal service will allow them. They both become premium subscribers, so that all letters are guaranteed delivery within twenty-four hours. The letters are never mentioned between them on Instabook, and they rarely text now. One boring day, Ada sends a geometry proof to fatten her letter, something simple. Jacob writes back that his likes it, so she sends one with every letter. Jacob starts writing about rare plants. Ada bought him stationary for Christmas, and he bought her sealing wax.

Unbeknownst to her, she is opening, peeling back her hardened skin with every letter she writes. Jacob reads in them the opinionated but light girl he once knew. Unbeknownst to him, he is growing more confident with every letter he writes. Ada reads in them the solid, sure man she always knew he could be.

In mid-February, she asks him if he would like to come visit her the week of Spring Break. She writes that is her favorite week in Bloomington, how almost everyone leaves for warmer places, how it feels like she is alone in the city she has fallen in with, how the crocuses are blooming in the mud for only her. Jacob replies that he thought her parents always came to visit her at Spring Break. She explains that she told them that she was having a friend in town this year, instead. They are coming in May.

He ends his next letter: "I would love to come, but what will your parents say when they discover you have thrown them over for me? Because won't they know it's me?"

Her only reply, a single sentence in the center of the cream stationary, "I think they've always known it was you: it just took me longer to figure that out."

Ada is strangely nervous the day he will arrive. Butterflies in her stomach, Ada wonders if this how women felt welcoming their men back from war, men they have only known for months via letter. She wears her most 1940's inspired dress, red with big white polka dots, rolls her air up in matching undo, and puts on her brightest red lipstick to take the train up to the airport, to pick him up. Because that's what you do for you care about someone.

Even though he knew she was meeting him, he looks at her like he's surprised to see her there. Not like he's forgotten about her. But like he can't believe he finally has her, that she choose him. Like he was waiting, and, even though he's not anymore, the memory of how it felt to wait for her all those years in still very fresh in his mind. Ada feels something in her heart fluter and grow wings before it flies away.

He falls in her arms, and they kiss hungrily, right there in public at the airport. The train cannot travel fast enough to Bloomington. He fidgets endlessly in his seat, although he never lets go of her hand. They run and laugh down the sidewalk to her house, the suitcase wheels clattering behind them.

They don't even make it to the bedroom. She covers his face in lipstick kisses even as she unbuttons his shirt and runs her fingers through his thick chest hair. They tear their clothes off, a line strewn from the door to the living room. He cannot believe this is happening to him even as he helps her pull off her dress and takes in her nakedness for the first time. Her neatly groomed pubic hair is bright red, which both shocks him and excites him further.

"Ada, wait," he stops her, as she reaches for him on the living room rug, in front of the fireplace. "There's something you need to know. I've never - I mean, I'm a virgin."

She raises her eyebrows, more obvious because she has left her glasses somewhere in the passion. "Really?"

Jacob blushes deeply. "Yes."

"Well, we all are at some point." She kisses him again.

Objectively, it was awful. It was choppy and her body wasn't really ready and it was over so fast she's certain her eyebrows are still raised. Jacob makes the most absurd face when he climaxes and, by the time he's rolled off of her, she can't hold it in any longer. She laughs harder than she can remember laughing in a long time, deep belly laughs, and she actually snorts which makes only makes her laugh harder.

Jacob groans loudly on the living room rug. "Ouch, you don't have to make fun on me."

"No, no," Ada manages to get out. She sits up to lean over him. Touching his face softly, she turns him toward her. "I loved it. It was passionate! I loved the way you kept saying my name in my ear, over and over again. It's like you couldn't get enough of me."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. When am I not serious?" Jacob nods slightly at that. Ada is the most serious person he knows. "I loved it. It was wild and hungry, and I never thought anyone would want me that badly."

"Do you have any idea how long I wanted you? You're right, I can't get enough you." He cannot help but smile, Ada so rarely laughs like that, she so rarely lets down her poised exterior. Not to mention he is thrilled to have finally touched her in that fashion.

Ada raises up and straddles him and slowly starts to rock back and forth over him, awakening his body again. Then she starts to take down the pins in her hair. Her beautiful hair, her long, shimmering hair, such a gleaming color, falls around her lean body. Jacob is mesmerized by her: her hair, her bright blue eyes, her almost flat breasts. He has never seen her so uninhibited. Between his age, the way her body is touching him, and the way her hair falls seductively, he is ready for her again.

"You're out of my league," he whispers, his most secret fear and confession. She is so much more intelligent then him, she is more certain of what she wants in life, she is taller and much more attractive. Surely she could have anyone in the world she wants, so why does she want him?

"My league is lonely. Come join me." Ada takes him in her hand before he can respond, and she helps him join her once more. It is even better the second time.

And then, the third time, the next morning in her bed, Jacob whispers, "Please, Ada, tell me what to do. Show me. I want to make you come." But when he succeeds, her climax comes out as a sob with tears and she curls in upon herself, crying. Jacob is frightened he has hurt her, and she manages to tell him, no, it's just that she's never had an orgasm from a man before. Jacob looks at her and doesn't even know what to say. He cannot reconcile this astounding news with his confident, demanding Ada, who knows and gets what she wants. There are so many new questions swirling in his brain, so many things he longs to know, but he understands that now is not the time. Later he will gently ask and she will tell him everything. But now, instead, he pulls her in close, and uses his palm to dry her tears and says, "I'm here now, Ada." It is all he has to give her, just himself, and he hopes it is enough.

Despite her previous plans to show him around town, to share with him everything she loves, they hardly leave the house. They are insatiable for each other. Jacob is eager to learn everything about her, and Ada is eager to finally have someone willing to experiment. He asks what she likes, he learns from her suggestions, and she is just as willing to try his whispered fantasies. They order food in, they cuddle on the sofa and watch television, they make so much noise in the heat of their frequent passion that the cats run out of the room. It is everything Ada ever wanted, everything her mother ever told her it could be, when she was too stubborn and independent then too settled to listen.

It is everything Jacob ever wanted, what he knew he could share with her all along. Even though Ada is not a virgin, this does not bother him as he has a visceral feeling that something in her soul is virginal and has been waiting for these moments, just has he knows his soul has been. But he does not tell her this, that making love to her feels like his soul has met its match, because he is afraid to even whisper it will make it disappear. Happiness like this must be a dream.

One morning, five days in, Ada makes a big brunch with the last of the eggs.

"Jacob, will you read something for me? Something I've written? I need you to be brutally honest," she asks over the kitchen table.

"Sure. What is it?"

"I'm not sure. A graphic novel, I suppose. But I want to do something different with it. It's long, much longer than most graphic novels." She goes to her computer desk and takes out a box. "This is the original. I've scanned it in, too, but I like it better on paper. It's not done. It needs editing, and some of the drawings aren't correct. I want to make every frame an example of a geometric proof or rule. So the angles and measurements aren't exact. But I think you'll get the idea."

Jacob pushes his plate away and wipes his faces with a napkin. He lifts the lid carefully. "Wow, this is different. I thought it would be like a regular comic book, like you normally draw."

Ada shakes her head. "No. I can draw like that, but it's not what I love. I prefer Cubism. But I want to take Cubism to the next level, I want it to uphold precise mathematical principles."

"Math as art or art as math?"

"Yes."

"So, it's a story about math and geometry?"

"No, read it. It's a story about . . . well, read it and tell me what you think."

He smiles. "Hey, do your parents still have that book club?"

"Yes. Why?" Ada wrinkles her brow, which always put this little line between her eyebrows just like her mother's.

"I don't know." He shrugged. "The way you said that, it made me wonder if that's how it got started."

"As neither of them are authors of fiction, that's unlikely. But," the line deepens, "you have made me realize I don't know how it got started. I know it was long before I was born." The line dissolves. "I'll leave you alone to read. Remember: brutal honesty. There are no secrets between us."

He hopes that his nod conveys that he understands how important this is to her, he can feel the weight in her words. She picks up her mug of coffee and turns to walk to the back porch. As she walks away, a cat on each side of her, it occurs to him how feline like she is herself. Jacob knows, in that instant, as he has suspected but never acknowledged before, how his life will forever be incomplete without her.

Blinking slowly in the bright morning sun as he sees her settle onto the porch swing, Jacob sighs softly, the universal sigh of longing and love, and then turns to the pages in front of him.

It is hours later when he raises his head. The sun has shifted, the coffee left in his cup has gone cold, his neck is cramped. Ada, though, is still sitting silently on the porch. She has been waiting patiently, like a monk. He knows the feeling. He also knows the feeling of euphoria when one finds the treasure for which one has been waiting. He is moved beyond words. He knows the feeling not just from those fevered, rushed, lipstick kisses on the living room floor five days ago. He knows the feeling, deep in the pit of his stomach, from this book he has just read. Never in his life has he read anything like it, anything so beautiful, anything that has exposed so perfectly the secrets of a heart.

Stiff from sitting for so long, he stands and walks slowly to the door. It creaks as he opens it, and the cats come rushing in with the cool spring air.

"Ada?" he whispers.

"Yes?" She turns her face slowly toward him, as though it's all a dream.

"It's - it's -" he puts his palms up, a supplication for the words he cannot find, "it's - a masterpiece."

They look at each other for a moment. It occurs to Jacob that maybe Ada loves him, too, as she has shown him this most private and exquisite part of her soul. It occurs to Ada that she is deeply in love with the short, funny looking man on her back porch, his hands still looking as though he is praying for her or blessing her or both.

Ada stands and takes one of his hands and brings it up to her lips to kiss the palm. She does not doubt him, she has asked for the truth and she knows he has given it. She leads him back inside, back to her bed.

It is nothing at all like it has been. They give to each other slowly, tenderly, delicately. They are wrapped about each other, the only sound is the most beautiful sound of their breath, mingling in the air, coming faster.

"Jacob, I love you," Ada whispers just as a tear falls out of the corner of her eye.

"I love you, too," Jacob whispers back.

* * *

Afterwards, he tells her that he has made a decision, as he runs his fingers idly through Ada's hair, her head on his chest. He's been researching and considering it for a couple of months.

"I think you should do it. It's obviously your passion," Ada replies.

"You gave me the strength, you know. If you could tell your dad you were studying a form of art for your PhD, I should be strong enough to tell me dad I was getting my Masters in Landscape Architecture," he explained.

"Thank you, but I didn't do anything special."

"Oh, but you are special. I always feel more confident next to you. And Purdue, that's close."

Ada lifts her head and looks down at him. "Jacob, don't do it for me. Or at least not at Purdue. You don't have to for me, I don't have to have you that close."

"Purdue isn't for you. Well, not really. I'll admit it crossed my mind. But it's a great school and I've been accepted." Then he pauses, his heart pounding. "But would you mind having me that close? I know you value your independence."

"Not from you," she shushes him into a soft kiss. "Besides, it's about time you followed me around the country, not the other way around," she says as she puts her head back down.

Jacob laughs, relieved. "You didn't follow me to Boston." His heart thumps once more. "Did you?"

"No. Although I did use your presence at MIT to help convince my parents I should go to Harvard." Ada sighs. "I didn't know then."

There is nothing Jacob can say in answer to that. It is the truth, as is everything Ada says. But it is also the past. And now, lying naked in her bed, holding her, it does not matter. He waited long enough, and now the wait is over.

"Let me take you out to dinner. Somewhere nice. Your favorite restaurant," Jacob says, giving her a squeeze. "My author. My mathematician. My renaissance lady. We'll celebrate."

Ada chuckles softly before sitting up. "Yes. But afterwards, I have to call Yasmine. And everyone else."

"Everyone else? Are you going to rent a billboard to tell the whole world about us, too?"

She smiles down at him. "This may shock you, but it's not about you. Okay, it is with Yasmine. She'd been texting me naughty lines from _Lady Chatterley's Lover_ all week; every time my watch vibrates, it's about hunching buttocks and shriveled penises."

"I'll try not to take that personally."

Her smiled broadens. "But I call Uncle Raj and Stuart every week. You can join me, they'll enjoy that. And I probably ought to call Dad, he's going crazy without me. You should see my whiteboard." She shifts in the bed and reaches beneath her bedside table to grab it. "Here."

Jacob takes the device from her and sees what he presumes is Sheldon's handwringing on the screen, although in different colored inks. The first is a math equation, but then the next says "Ada?" Another equation and then  
"I know you're busy, but I am curious."  
"Your mother says I should leave you alone as you're having Jacob."  
"I meant having him as your guest, not in the sense of sexual congress."  
"Although I assume you are having sexual congress, please do not tell me about it."  
"Your mother has read this and is unhappy with me. I apologize."  
"Have you heard any good science jokes?"  
"Leonard and I are having a disagreement. Will you settle it?" followed by another equation.  
"Do not rush, I have told Leonard that you are enjoying Jacob."  
"Howard just told me that 'enjoying Jacob' could be a euphemism for sexual congress, as well."  
At the end: "We are all so happy for you."

Putting the board down, Jacob wrinkles his brow and looks at Ada's amused face. It was bad enough when it was just Sheldon, but apparently his sex life is being opening discussed in the cafeteria at Caltech, too. "I don't know what to say," he admits.

"I was embarrassed at first, too. But then I remembered that to my father it's just another fact, he doesn't really mean anything by it. But did you see the end? They're all happy for us. They mean well," she explains. "And you know what your dad is like."

Jacob hands the board back to her and runs his hand down his face. Yes, his father never met a situation he couldn't make a quip about. And Jacob has sat at that table in the cafeteria and he can see it all clearly, Sheldon telling a story and using a phrase of which he does not understand the full connotation, Leonard grinning at him, his own father pointing out the obvious and cracking a joke about, maybe even with Raj joining in. "You're right. They're happy, we're happy. Dinner?"

They shower, and Jacob finally unpacks his nicest shirt and pants from his suitcase. He's just adjusting his belt when she enters from the spare room she uses as a closet. His heart flutters when she enters the room.

"What are you wearing?" Jacob laughs, although he has known Ada long enough to not really be surprised.

"You said I was your renaissance lady," Ada says, twirling for him in her forest green gown with gold lacing up the front and bell sleeves. She has made two small braids with the front of her hair and circled them around her head like a tiny crown. "Let's go to the Irish Lion, it will be perfect for this dress."

"Not everything requires a costume, you know," Jacob says, still smiling.

"You sound like my mother. To which I reply, life is boring without costumes."

"And that makes you sound like your father." Ada smiles serenely back at him. "But I feel like I'm underdressed, walking with you."

"You'll get used to it," she says matter-of-factly. Only Ada has the self-confidence to pull it off, and Jacob can't wait to spend all of his time getting used to her.

* * *

**_Thank you in advance for your reviews!_**


	57. This Bed

**This Bed (_takes places after_ Weightless - the 2051 night)**

* * *

_Her husband, still not fully gray, although he was currently enjoying some scholarly gray temples, looked around their home, boxes labeled in Amy's neat script. "I wish we didn't have to leave."_

_"We don't have to leave," Amy corrected him. "It just seems the right time, now that we've both retired." Sheldon grunted, still chaffing under the non-existent yoke of leisure. "More importantly, we'll be close to Ada and Jacob and our grandchildren, and that is very important to me. And to you, too, I know."_

* * *

It is a phrase that has become overused with time, but it remains true. Amy knows he is gone even before she wakes. The bed feels too large, too expansive, too cold, too lonely without his presence. Rubbing her eyes, she sits up slowly on her elbows.

"Computer," she murmurs, "what time is it?"

"Two-oh-six a.m."

"Lights, then, at 30%."

The room lightens to dim glow and Amy swings her legs over the edge of the bed. Once glance tells her the cats are gone, too. She grabs her robe from the hook on the back of the door and shuffles out to the great room, dodging moving boxes. His silhouette is dark against the city lights behind him. In all the years they've lived here, several newer and taller buildings have surrounded them.

"Sheldon?" she whispers as she approaches. The cats that were flanking him turn to make their little welcome trills in her direction. "Trouble sleeping?"

"Yes."

She smiles at his honesty and starts to wrap her arms around his waist from behind. In so doing, her hand brushes something in his hands and she stops. "What do you have?"

He shifts in front of her, just enough so he can pass her what he is holding, but he does not turn around to watch her. Amy squints and says, "Computer, lights at full." Once the lights are up, she realizes it is two old-fashioned photographs. She smiles softly at the first, one of their wedding photos; not the one she has kept on her desk for years, first at Caltech and then here at home when she retired, of her smiling with abandonment and Sheldon looking surprised. No, this is the second photo Raj took that day, of Sheldon passing the bouquet of sunflowers to her, their hands meeting around the stems, their eyes meeting over the top. The second photo makes her heart skip a beat. It is the two of them on the hospital bed, Ada feeding at her breast. Two photos Sheldon never wanted taken and yet he is holding at this very moment.

"Where did these come from?" she asks.

"I always kept them in my desk at work. But of course I brought them home last month. I didn't want to lose them in the move."

"Oh, Sheldon." She has to bat her eyelashes to keep the tears at bay. Now she does wrap her arms all the way around his slender frame. "You sentimental old fool."

"I was thinking about this place when we first moved in," he says softly, placing his hands over hers on his waist. "How happy you were, how beautiful you were."

* * *

He woke in moment of confusion. The bed felt so much larger and softer than he remembered and there was a strange scratching sound. It only took a second, but then he understood. The new home, the new bed. He smiled to himself, looking at the closed blinds, enjoying the view. The view he will enjoy for the rest of his life. But what was that noise?

Rolling over, he raised his eyebrows at what he saw. Amy, her hair wet and dripping down her back, her face pink and free of make-up. She was wearing a tee shirt that didn't fully cover her expanding stomach, which meant it was one of Penny's old shirts, given to her as a necessity just after the fire. The pair of black maternity leggings she had found to wear around the house stretched up and over the baby, and the combination of such tight clothing left her entire form on display. Sheldon grinned wider even as she was oblivious to him, digging through one of the moving boxes, and he could easily watch her bottom shake with movement.

Yesterday, as they were moving in, Bernadette had told Amy how lucky she was to be at the "cute" stage of pregnancy, when it was obvious she was pregnant and not just overweight but not so large yet "that you look and feel like an elephant." Sheldon had no idea if that was true, but he couldn't imagine Amy looking unattractive and certainly not while she was pregnant. He enjoyed the view for a bit more, the curves of her new body, the fresh cleanliness of her face.

Finally, after a quiet but frustrated growl from her, he got out of bed and circled around to her. "Amy?"

She looked up and over her shoulder. "Sorry I woke you. I was looking for the socks. I thought I wrote socks on the outside of the box, but I guess not. Pregnancy brain." She shook her head and bent back down again.

"You're up early. You should be sleeping in while you can."

"No." Another shake of the head. "There's still a lot to put away. More dishes to run, and I have to wash the new towels before you shower. I just used one and got lint all over myself; you'd hate that." He was about to tell her not overexert herself when she looked back up, turning and standing upright this time. "I'm so excited to finally have all my own things to organize!"

He grinned at her early morning enthusiasm. If he had known how beautifully it would make her eyes glow, he would have bought her a new home years ago. Why was he always so resistant to change, at least when it came to Amy? He reached out for her hand. "I'm excited, too."

Pulling her nearer to him, angling his body slightly to allow him to get closer to her, he kissed her softly as his free hand reached over to touch her stomach. "She's gone quiet, I think she's sleeping," Amy mumbled into his lips.

"It's okay." Using his index finger, he traced the edge of her tight tee shirt, finding his way to the strip of skin just above her yoga pants.

"Watch my belly button, it tickles."

It was not her belly button he was after, and he snaked his hand up under her shirt, finding her breast, running his fingertips over her thin house bra until he felt her nipple harden. Once Amy moaned, Sheldon pulled her back in for another kiss, this one deep and pulsing with desire. Breaking the kiss, he leaned closer to her ear. "Yes?"

"Yes."

"Did you just get out of the shower?"

"Yes . . ."

Instead of replying with words, he softly gripped the sides of her waist and turned her around, so she was leaning against a taller box. He bent down into a kiss, working his hands to her waist band, pulling down on her leggings, only pausing to catch the sides of her underwear, too, as his hands passed them, helping her lift her bottom up to aid in the disrobing of his wife.

"Oh, Sheldon," Amy moaned, gripping the sides of the box and throwing her head back. Dipping to his knees, he lowered the leggings and slid them off her ankles. Then, picking up one of her feet, he started on her instep, kissing slowly, climbing higher, relishing the sound of her breath, coming harder and faster with anticipation, his kisses a metronome for her desire.

It was there, then, what Sheldon sought: the very center of his Amy. He loved her there gently, slowly, his lips curling into a smile when they could. Her leg was over his shoulder, and he could feel her heel moving against his back every time her foot contracted with pleasure. The only negative about this position at that time in Amy's life was that her face was hidden now behind her alluring belly. Glancing up, he took his free hand and traced the darkening linea nigra, stopping just at the edge of her flattening and newly sensitive belly button. He didn't have time to wonder if she would bat his fingertips away before she climaxed around him, her heel thumping especially hard against his back, her thighs squeezing his head, and, he thought, even her stomach pulling a bit away from him.

One soft kiss on her hip and he rose. "Good morning and welcome home," he whispered.

Amy's eyes were at their most magnificent after she experienced an orgasm and they dazzled him with their brilliance. "I'll say," she panted. She lifted her arms off the edge of the cardboard moving box and wrapped them around his neck. "Should we -"

"I have to wash my face." Sheldon frowned at himself, not having meant to blurt it out so harshly like that. "I'm sorry," he added weakly.

"Go." She ticked with her head. He paused, just a second, and then she smiled softly. Dear Amy, she understood.

Rushing in the bathroom, throwing off his pajamas while he was at it, Sheldon hoped the moment hadn't been lost to his poor planning. He was usually more prepared when he decided to love Amy in that fashion so that there would be minimal interruptions. He had tried once not to wash his face, but then Amy had tried to kiss him and his sudden pulling out had killed the mood more than any swipe with a washcloth ever had.

There was no clear answer when he returned to the bedroom. Amy was in bed, curled up on her side, a few extra pillows arranged around her for support, and Sheldon could have believed she was settling in for a post-orgasmatic nap. But his hopes raised when he noticed she had not put any clothes back on; instead, she had removed them all and was lying there naked. He walked quietly to the edge of the bed and looked down at her form, everything so rounded: the softer shapes of her face lately, the new fullness to her breasts, the darker circles of her areoles, the swooping curve of her bottom, and, most especially, the beauty of their growing baby. Pi and Amy, both in all their beautiful variations.

She opened her eyes and turned her head to him. "Are you joining me?"

Sheldon licked his lips. He did not want to misread this situation. "Are you returning to bed?"

"Not for sleep. Come." She lifted her hand off her stomach and he took it, carefully crawling onto the bed around her.

Amy started to shift, and Sheldon put his hand on her hip. "No, stay like that."

"Ah, yes," she smiled, turning her head back so her profile was visible once more, "you do like to spoon in the mornings."

"I was thinking - could we do it like this?" he asked, looking down at her. Amy looked back up at him in surprise. "I know it's unusual, but I love the way you look, curled up like that."

"Okay." Not surprised that she understood exactly what he meant, Amy turned her face away from him again and lowered her chin some, curling up even a little tighter.

It was not easy, that perpendicular approach. She had to straighten her legs anyway, so he could reach her, and Amy's new size meant he struggled for somewhere to put his right hand. But he managed to get himself aligned correctly, and he leaned close to her ear. "Tell me if you don't like this or if it's uncomfortable."

Breathing out deeply as he found his way into her, he paused, letting her shift her hip. He tried a careful, slow thrust. It had a been very long time since he'd experienced Amy at this angle. "How is this?" he whispered.

"It's good," she said.

It was more than he could have imagined: the tightness of her body as it spiraled around her abdomen, the tightness of her body as it held him. He loved watching her skin, pale and stretching over her magnificent form but gradually flushing with heat. It was not mathematically the golden spiral formed by the Fibonacci sequence, but it was, in that moment, far more radiant than any spiral galaxy he'd ever seen or theorized about.

Wanting Amy to feel that radiance along with him, he shifted his weight to one arm and reached to caress her breast. He said, just before he knew from her breath that she was going to climax along with him, "I am so happy with you, in this house, in this bed."

* * *

"How happy you were, how beautiful you were." Before Amy can even raise her eyebrows, he corrects himself. "You still are, you know. That beautiful."

She chuckles into his back. "It's okay, Sheldon. I am well aware of the ravishes of time. Thirty-seven is in my distant past now."

"No." He turns sharply in her arms, loosening them as a consequence. "It's a different beauty, of course. You're not pregnant. But you are just as happy to leave this house as you were to move into it, and you are never more beautiful than when you are happy."

Blushing at this, Amy says, "I am happy." Then she adds, "And you are never more handsome than when you try something new."

* * *

There was nothing unduly special about the night. They were back from London and they settled back into their rhythms of summer. It was not a Date Night or even Book Club Night. Dinner, while filling and nutritious, was not anything new or inventive. Ada had a little model to put together for summer enrichment camp; but instead of an adorable half hour between her and her father, she had insisted on putting it together herself which left Sheldon looking disappointed and a little sad. And he was wearing a Captain America tee shirt, not even one of her favorite henley shirts.

Yet, when she had gone to read in her own bed after reading with Ada that evening, she found herself looking away from her iKindle, lost in thoughts of him. And those thoughts are not pure in nature. She could not help but imagine the way he walked, those long, sure strides. The beauty of his fingers, how skilled he was at using them. The blue of his eyes, purer and more radiant than any stained glass. The soft alabaster of his skin, more gentle than any statue.

A smile teasing at her lips, she lifted her iKindle again and sent him a message. "Come to bed."

"Are you ill?"

"No. Come to bed."

"It is not yet ten o'clock."

Amy rolled her eyes. Never mind that she was essentially texting her husband in the next room. "Don't be obtuse. Bring your naked body to our bed."

There was no response and Amy strained her ears. She thought, perhaps, she head a faint shuffle down the hallway, but she wasn't sure. Then she definitely heard rustling noises in the hallway. What was that? Should she get up and investigate? What if Ada had gotten up because she was ill?

Before she could get out of bed, he suddenly appeared at the doorway of their bedroom. All six feet and one inches of his porcelain body, naked and already semi-erect. "You rang?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Hoooooo," Amy breathed out. Then her senses returned. "Get in here! What if Ada opens her door and sees you?"

"She's already asleep. I checked." Nonetheless, he stepped inside their bedroom proper and shut the door behind him.

"Now, little lady," he said, taking off his glasses, padding over to his side of the bed and nonchalantly stretching out on it, "I have brought my naked body to your bed. And yet you are still fully clothed. This hardly seems fair. What do you propose?"

"I want to look at you. All of you. Admire you." She shifted to put her iKindle on her bedside table. "Lie on your stomach."

"My stomach?" His brows dipped. "Wait, I thought this was sexual. It's not time for our monthly mole and freckle inspections."

"I know."

He paused in obvious confusion but then nodded and rolled over for her. Leaning over him, she gently ran her palm along his back, the largest expanse of his beautiful skin, down and over the curve of his buttocks, still tight even at his age. She trailed over the back of his legs, covered in their dark hair, and his feet twitched when her fingertips brushed against the back of his knees. Even the soles of his feet, the skin wrinkling, were somehow appealing tonight. Sheldon remained silent throughout.

"Roll over," she whispered hoarsely, and he complied.

Oh, the body of Sheldon Cooper! Time had been unfairly kind to him, as he was one of those lucky men who both seemed not to age and yet became ever more handsome as they do. Although he was still lanky, he had filled out from when she first met him and found him so skinny that it was alarming. His skin, thanks to his stringent sunscreen application, remained pale and luminous, especially there in the half-light of their bedroom. Yes, there were those moles he worried about - for some reason she found the ones on his neck and by his ears especially charming - but they existed as though they were stars upon his own Milky Way. Amy worked her way up his body this time, past his long toes and feet, up the hair-covered legs, the dimples of his knees. The leg hair suddenly ceased, giving way to another patch of neatly groomed hair that she chose to ignore for the moment. She took just the tip of her index finger and traipsed with the barest touch straight up the part of him that was most on display.

"Amy," he moaned softly.

"Shhh, in a minute." The soft flesh of his waist, the trial of hair leading up to his belly button. Then his stomach. While perhaps it was true that he did not possess the chiseled abs of a body-builder, Amy envied its flatness, what a soft plain it created. Up to the small, scant patch of chest hair, so in contrast to his legs, then over to toy with his nipples in just he way she knew he liked. His neck was so long, the tendons often popping and stretching when he was surprised or confused or just proving a point. Those lips! Pink and soft. The delicate skin of his cheek. His eyebrows, which always threatened to become untamed and grew in far too much. Sheldon had to trim them weekly to try and reign them in and there were still times Amy had to gently suggest that he allow her to assist in some plucking.

Just beneath those eyebrows, his beautiful blue eyes were staring at her. "Amy?" he asked softly once her hand found its way into his dark and still full head of hair.

Instead of answering, she reached for the hem on her summer nightgown and lifted the fabric over her head, tossing it aside. With difficultly on the bed, she shimmied out of her panties and threw them away, too. In one swift motion, she straddled him, holding herself up on her knees so that she won't crush the most delicate part of him. Swallowing, she applied the same carcasses to her own body, starting at her forehead and moving down, listening to the sounds of Sheldon's breath, especially when it shallowed as she encircled her own nipple, feeling it harden further in desire.

She watched his pupils steadily grow ever wider, and almost all of the blue was lost when she dipped her fingers down, threatening to touch herself. Stopping, she smiled at him coyly, "Or would you rather?"

"Oh, Lordy, I thought you'd never ask!"

The huge burst of laughter that poured our of her lungs seemed doubly loud in the room that had so recently been filled only with silence and beautiful longing. But it was interrupted by a gasp and shiver of pleasure as Sheldon's fingers made good on her offer. "Sheldon," she moaned, closing her eyes. But his fingers were not working to bring her to climax, they are exploring, taunting, teasing. "Sheldon, please," Amy whispered, her voice husky with desire.

Without a word, Sheldon trapped her waist and lowered her suddenly, almost harshly, but she relished the sound of his growl which indicated that was how he wanted it. Smiling coyly down at him, she started moving above him slowly, teasing him this time. Then, leaning forward, she took his hands off her hips and intertwined her fingers with his above his head, her nose almost touching his as she stared at him and set a rapid pace.

It did not take long for either one of them, and just as she threw her head back in pleasure, Amy thought about how happy she was to be home with him, in this bed.

* * *

"Here." Sheldon takes the photographs out of her hands and then walks the two steps the dining table to set them down, right next to the sticker that says Sell. It is too large for their new apartment in the retirement community, as they now face the moment in everyone's advanced years in which downsizing become a necessity. For a second, Amy remembers all the laughter and the tears at that table. And the one time they made love there. Lost in her memories, her melancholy about leaving this home they've made together, but, especially, lost in the look in his eyes, Amy does not notice there was a third photograph, too, stuck to the second.

Sheldon puts out his hand and she takes it, the words unspoken and needless between them, and they return to their bed.

It does not happen nearly as often as it once did. It is not that the love is lost, not by any means; it is just that gradually, the pleasure that comes from snuggling up to him in bed has become as desirous as other things they may do there. It is a different type of pleasure, but no less pleasurable. But it still does happen, from time to time, and she loves his aging body just as much now as she always has.

And this time, he whispers, just before he knows from her breath that she is going to climax along with him, "I have been so happy with you, in this house, in this bed."

THE END-ISH

* * *

_**Thank you in advance for your reviews!**_

**_Even though this is the end of this particular story, the Shamyverse as a whole is not finished._ The Anniversary Evolution: Year Fifty**_** takes place after this **_**After Dark**_** chapter. Please enjoy!**_


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